


Sharp Edges

by Nalou



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, BAMF Logan, Bottom Charles Xavier, Bottom Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Always Says the Absolute Worst Thing He Could Possibly Say, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, Edie Lehnsherr lives, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr is not a Happy Bunny, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Issues, Erik-centric, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Erik Lehnsherr, Piercings, Probation worker Logan, Protective Erik, Shaw Being a Manipulative Bastard, Switching, Tattoos, Top Charles Xavier, Top Erik Lehnsherr, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, past gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 68,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/pseuds/Nalou
Summary: Erik has never been good at staying out of trouble, to the point of thinking he might be a magnet for assholes (funny, since he's also kind of a real magnet, but that's not the point). He hates it, it has effectively ruined his life until now, and he sincerely hopes he'll be able to blend into the crowd of normal people in his new city. But luck still isn't on his side. His head is still full of fear, pain and anger. His new probation worker is a hairy, cigar-smoking cunt. His new high school is filled with mutantphobes, and he's barely arrived when he comes across the worst of them: CharlesPosh TwatXavier.Okay. This is war, then.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it.  
> This is the story I've been dying to post for ages - written between April and July last year. My first long story- and I hope, not the last!
> 
> The title comes from [Sharp Edges](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5Ni_LskhFc) by Linkin Park. I highly recommend you to listen to it :)  
> The first sentence of this story comes from [Azra Tabassum](https://5000letters.tumblr.com/post/142888893242/not-all-love-is-gentle-sometimes-its-gritty-and). This was so inspiring!
> 
> I have to thank from the bottom of my heart:  
> \- [Flo'w](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowTralala), my dearest friend, my helpful beta, my relentless T-rex, the one who got me through this story and every other one with her encouragements and love ~~and threats~~. Thanks to you, I'm now capable of publishing a full 70k story when I thought a year ago that I wouldn't be able to do this ever. I love you.  
> \- [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey) for her encouragements and love while I was writing, for the wonderful gifts she offered me and that I can finally share with you all. You are so talented, so adorable, and I'm so proud to count you as one of my most precious friends.  
> \- [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt) for her wonderful work betaing this story, as English isn't my first language. You are so sweet, thank you for everything, for all the encouraging comments!
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nesnalou). I'm always open for a chat, so don't hesitate!
> 
> This story will be updated roughly every week, as it is fully written and almost completely betaed!
> 
> This is the biggest work I have ever done on a story, so please, don't hesitate to leave a comment! I want to know what you thought of it!
> 
> Thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to go through this. I hope you will enjoy yourself.
> 
> Nalou

 

.

 

Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it’s gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it’s not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.

That’s something Erik Lehnsherr has learned pretty damn early.

 

*

 

He has just moved in to the Bronx after his mother and he fled Pittsburgh. He can’t see that as anything else but fleeing. Even if Edie Lehnsherr considers it _starting a new life_.

He has a new life, in a new high school, far away from his own old one, full of mutantphobes and haters, of students and teachers he despises with all his heart for all they have done to him. He has a new apartment to get accustomed to, with old squeaking pipes and peeling paint and stains on the ceiling, built in a street that barely sees the sun more than a few scant hours each day.

Right now, all he needs is to finish high school without causing any more trouble. He’s had enough. His mother’s had enough. He can’t hurt her any more than he already has. She’s getting old, and she’s the only family Erik has left.

He’s turning eighteen next January and the prosecutors won’t be so generous with him as soon as he’s an adult regarding the law, if he ever steps out of the line again. Just thinking about it makes him crush the legal papers in his hands.

He slowly breathes in. Holds. Breathes out. Thinks about this new room of his, bare but for a bed and a desk, all of his (scarce) belongings still packed in cardboard boxes. Books, mostly. Second-hand and patched clothes. Metal scraps he’s usually toying with. No pictures. He leaves the memories to the past. Doesn’t have many happy memories, anyway. It’ll take no time to get his stuff out and stored.

The old spring mattress creaks underneath him, and he concentrates on every metal bits inside it to straighten them and assure his back a few more years of approximately good sleep. Then, he finally comes back to that letter clutched in his right fist.

The lacerations on his knuckles have almost completely healed, leaving faint white scars among the older ones.

He straightens the two sheets of paper back and reads them again. They’ve transferred his juvie record to the closest probation centre from his new home, and he’s got an appointment with his new counsellor the next day. He’s got only a few remaining days before the school year starts and he still hasn’t completely caught up with the classes he missed after his exclusion. He’ll have to manage.

 

*

 

Erik would have laughed, had he remembered how to do it. The new probation worker looks like anything _but_ a saint. The man is built like a bull overloaded with growth hormones, has sideburns the size of Erik’s hands, and a haircut so hideous Erik almost throws up a little in his mouth upon seeing him.

The man, after opening the door to his insalubrious office inside a crumbling building, has growled a “Logan” that, Erik supposes, is his name. He sits back on his creaking desk chair and looks at Erik for an impossibly long minute before retrieving the cardboard folder on the cluttered table. He opens it, mumbles the words _beat up, four guys,_ and _pulp_.

“Well, kid, you’re aware you’re in deep trouble?” Logan starts. He grabs a cigar in his front shirt pocket and puts it between his teeth, leaving it unlit.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Erik whispers, crossing his arms over his chest. He nudges a coin he has in his jeans’ front pocket and gets it to float over his hand, sliding easily between his spread fingers at his side. The _kid_ he is can easily ignore the new probie.

Logan raises his eyes from the file and watches him once again, considering. Drops the cigar in the ashtray on his desk. Lifts  a paw to his face–no way a _hand_ could be so big and hairy–and oh so slowly, a claw emerges from between his index and middle finger, and how could Erik have not sensed it before? This is metal. Metal covering every damn bone in the counsellor’s body.

The man uses the claw to pick his teeth, and the scrape over enamel makes Erik gag and the penny, drop. Erik scowls at Logan, but knows that he can’t even try to force him to stop–assaulting a probation worker seeing you for, well, an assault case, is probably not a good idea–even if the metal is now singing to his senses.

“Good, I finally have your attention?” Logan’s voice rumbles, but he actually stops doing that _thing_ with his claw. “Adamantium, if you’re asking.”

“I’m not.” Erik replies immediately.

“You have your tricks, I have mine. And I also have a folder full of stories about you and what you can do.” He pauses, takes the cigar again. “I know you know how everything works. I won’t repeat it. You come here once a week, I stamp the needed box in that grid, and we’re fine.” He produces a lighter from nowhere in sight and uses it to ignite the tip of the cigar. Thick, odorous smoke escapes his mouth after his first intake of breath.

Erik glares at the man for fumigating him but then gets his own tobacco pouch from his pocket and starts rolling a cigarette.

Logan cuts him off. “What do you think you’re doing?” as Erik is about to lick the paper and close his smoke. Baffled, Erik doesn’t move, his unrolled cigarette still in hand, as Logan watches him cautiously. But an instant later, the man’s face breaks into a grin. “Kidding. I don’t give a fuck. Smoke in here if you want to. I’ll just say I didn’t know your age.”

“It’s on the paper.” Erik says, deadpan. Seriously, what’s wrong with this guy? Erik doesn’t know what to do, how to behave. Maybe that’s precisely what that creep wants.

Logan folds the cardboard pouch over his juvenile record. “What paper?”

 

Later, as Erik goes back home, walking the few miles separating him from his mother, he wonders what the few months left on probation will be made of.

 

*

 

When he gets home, his mother is removing vegetables from brown paper bags and storing them in their new crappy kitchen. He empties his pockets in the bowl sitting in the entryway before going to help her. They make a quick work of it and he then floats the kettle under the faucet in order to make tea. His mother never stops, moving and bustling over anything at any time of the day, and Erik knows she’s tiring up. She tries to conceal it but he knows her way too well.

 

He pours the now hot water over the bag inside the old, chipped teapot and gets their two mugs from the cupboard. The ceramic is stained from years of leaves infusing and hurried rinsing. He silently urges Edie to sit on one of the stools with her tea and some biscuits he got from the ‘food’ labelled box, then Erik starts unpacking the remaining stuff inside it under his mother’s rapt attention.

She talks about her trip to the nearest synagogue, and all the nice people she met there. The rabbi has welcomed her and asked her if she was well settled, if she needed some help from the others in the community, but she had answered that her son was helping her and doing everything she needed and that he was a good boy. As she tells that part, Erik can’t stop blushing.

“Mama, you know that’s not true. You know what happened.” He berates her.

“I know that what happened was a farce and that you weren’t responsible,” she answers quickly.

“I’m not talking only about that. I’m talking about everything. I’m no good.”

“Hush, boy. Don’t you think your old mother knows the truth? That you hide even to yourself?”

Erik snorts and resumes storing the food they packed, deciding not to listen to her anymore for now. He grits his teeth, jaw tightened to keep control over his rising anger. Breathe in. Breathe out. Pushing the turmoil down.

She doesn’t leave him to his own devices for long. “I talked with a nice elderly couple. They own a shop, a… grocery store, a few blocks from here. And they could use a hand. Poor Mr David can’t lift much those days, with his back hurting so much. They might look for someone for a few hours a week, and I told them you wanted to find a job for after school and the weekends. So they asked me to give you their shop address. You can go and talk to them any time you want.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Now, go-I’ll finish that and make dinner, all right? You have yet to unpack your things.”

Erik chugs his lukewarm tea in one go and rinses both mugs before drying his hands on the rag sitting near the sink. Putting a hand on her frail shoulder, he leans to kiss her cheek. “Call me if you need anything.” He goes straight to his room.

 

*

 

He stares at his reflection on the mirror he’d installed the day before in his bedroom. He’d discarded his shirt upon entering the room and after moving a few things, now he stops to look at himself, lost in his thoughts.

The black lines covering his arms and chest are stark over his golden skin, proofs of the things he has done. They cover a few scars but don’t conceal them totally, and others appeared after the ink. His gaze is hard, ruthless, the grey of his pupils unsettling. Erik has been hardened in Pittsburgh’s worst streets, and it shows not only on his skin, but also underneath, as lean muscles ripple with each tiny movement. But all those years–they have defined him. They took what he was and perfected it, shaped him in a diamond so hard he wouldn’t fear anything. He’s not especially proud. He just… He doesn’t know how he would have fared without all that. Not after… Not after.

Erik shakes his head, breaks the contact with his reflection. Resumes his storing. Tomorrow, he’ll go to the shop and see if they want to hire him despite his tattooed arms. Jews usually don’t like the idea of it, but Erik had needed to break that taboo. Had needed the pain, the metal drilling his body, the acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, he’ll go to the shop and discover if he’s definitely an outcast or if he can redeem himself—if there’s still one microscopic chance.

 

.

 .


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for all the kudos and the comments!! I was maddeningly refreshing the page multiple times a day just to see the counts going up and up... This is such a wonderful feeling!  
> Damn, the comments!!! That was so, so good to receive them! Please never stop <3
> 
> I hope you will like this second chapter too!

.

 

Erik is startled by the warm welcome he receives when crossing the threshold of that little grocery store. Both Adriel and Liora David grin at him and ask if he’s Edie’s son. When he says yes, they just fall into a babble of ‘ _ you look just like her _ ’ and other bullshit. They don’t even say anything about his uncovered arms and the lines running above every planes of his strong muscles. They offer him a coffee or a tea or a hot chocolate and  _ really, anything you want, young man _ , and he declines it all in order to focus on what they would need. 

He would have to make sure everything is well stocked in the shelves and in the backroom, help them with heavy loads, and maybe sometimes cover the cashier if they ever needed to leave early. He even shows them what he can do with his mutation, levitating a whole pallet by its bolts. He agrees to come every day after school and on Saturday for the first week and see how it goes from there, and really, their smiles and open faces would warm his heart a bit if he still had one.

He finally goes back home after buying a few things from the store—and they try to offer them to him, but he refuses—he hasn’t escaped the hearty discount, though.

*

When he finally goes to bed that night, Erik lies on his mattress, covers drawn back. One of his hands comes to rest on his stomach while the other goes behind his head.

Tomorrow, he thinks, he’ll start a new year, in a new school, where nobody knows him or what he’s done. He just wants to be left alone.

He concentrates on his breathing, just as he learned. 

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. 

His hand on his abdomen helps him visualize the movement. He repeats it until he feels relaxed enough. Erik closes his eyes, switches the light off with a flick of his mind, and starts counting backward starting from a hundred.

*

He wakes up the next morning, feeling rather restless, and immediately starts his day with his usual series of push-ups before taking a shower. He then goes to the kitchen, grabs the coffee pots and a cup and hastily drinks the scalding beverage before packing his lunch and moving to the door with a kiss for his mother. 

The walk to the high school is brisk, his jacket barely enough to protect him as it unexpectedly starts to rain, so he turns his collar up and walks faster. It takes him ten more minutes before arriving in front of Roosevelt High School, and even if the rain isn’t that hard, he feels the chill on his skin. He hadn’t planned to remove his jacket for his meeting with the principal, so he’s only wearing a tee-shirt under it. He knows it’s not a good idea to keep it. But the notion of removing it and showing to that man the tattoos he has made while not even being an adult yet on his first day of school is probably worse.

He finally arrives before the red brick, two-story building. From what he can see from the entryway, two wings spread themselves at each side, the angle forming an L-shape to follow the roads.

He finds the office rather easily after presenting himself to the reception desk, and knocks at the door. The accepting answer comes rapidly after. He enters the room and closes the door behind him, slowly crossing the few steps to the centre of the room.

“Ah, Mister Lehnsherr. Welcome to Roosevelt. I hope your moving went well?” the man is seated at his desk, thick glasses on his protuberant nose.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Erik answers.

He sits in one of the two chairs in front of the desk after the principal makes a move with his hand to acknowledge them.

“I am Mister Johnson, as you must already know. Here’s your schedule with the majors and minors you picked. As we discussed over the phone before the summer vacation, you’ll need to take an appointment with the counsellor to define your objectives for the future. You might want to go to college, don’t you, son?”

“Maybe.” Erik intently reads his schedule, trying to memorise it rapidly and avoid a lecture about studies and other things he’ll never have.

“Okay. I’ll let you start your day, then. If you ever need anything, just ask around. I’m sure any student would be glad to help you. By the way, you’ll have to get your books from the library, you might have enough time before the first period. Just go back to the ground floor and turn right, it’s near the entrance.”

“Thank you, sir.” Erik jerks his head in salute before rising to his feet, adjusting the bag at his shoulder. “Have a nice day.” And with that, he leaves the office.

He has exactly twenty minutes before the start of his first lesson—some English basics that he has to keep in order to graduate. He hopes to avoid the new-kid presentation in front of the entire class, but he’s almost sure it’ll be compulsory. He hurtles down the stairs and ends up at the front entrance, where a decent flow of students starts to pour inside the building. None of them pay him any attention, as it’s their first day of school, and he hears exclamations of reunited friends, heavy shouting from one side of the hall to the other, even some yawns from people he passes by.

Soon enough, Erik crosses the library’s doors as another student exits. The boy’s eyes are fixed on the floor, and his face is pale and drawn, dark circles underlining his long, black lashes. But what stands out the most are the red lips that teeth nibble at.

A glance, that’s all Erik gets, and wants.

He turns his focus back on his purpose--get his books, his locker number, get to class. 

The boy has disappeared.

The textbook matter is handled quickly, and he’s got everything he needs to start. He leaves and walks down the corridor just as the bookkeeper has explained, to find his locker. He finds the number 965 just before another set of doors, on the lower half of the row. But the guy from the library is standing in front of it, the upper-half locker opened in front of him. 

As he approaches, Erik has time enough to scrutinize him. He’s dressed like a British student—crisp white button-down and grey blazer over some dark pants that decidedly don’t look like jeans. They look more like a dress uniform than something a student would wear voluntarily.

Erik just crouches down next to him, and the gesture sets the other guy into motion. Quickly, the metallic door slaps shut and the body moves out of Erik’s way. Satisfied, he reaches for the lock of his newly acquired locker with his mind and opens it, depositing every books but the one for his English class. He closes the door and gets back on his feet, his left knee creaking in complaint. His heart picks up, and he closes his eyes just for a second— breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

When he opens them again, he spots two blonde girls watching him from the other end of the hall. One of them is dressed all in white and looks at him haughtily. The second, hair just a bit darker and frame faintly shorter and curvier, has her head slightly cocked to the side, as if intrigued. Oh, she can be intrigued all she wants, Erik thinks. He barely spares them a glance before setting himself into motion towards his first class.

*

Everyone in the classroom is well acquainted with the others, and so he is quickly spotted as the black sheep, every gaze turning to him as he strides through the room to an empty desk. He ignores the murmurs floating, getting gradually stronger, from the students wondering who he is. He won’t look up. He won’t look up and they will never know. He opens his bag, gets his book, his notepad and his pen out, playing with the last item while waiting for the teacher to come in. Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, the guy from the library and the lockers is here too, sitting in the front row by the window. He gazes outside, seemingly lost in his thoughts as his head rests on his hand.

Everybody settles as someone passes the threshold. It’s a woman Erik would estimate is in her early thirties. Straight brown hair cut over her shoulders and matching brown eyes over a strict grey suit. She starts the class with a short essay over a book students were asked to read during the summer. They all pass the papers from the front row to the last, and Erik looks at his copy with unease. He hasn’t read that book, because he didn’t know he had to.

Soon, the only sounds in the room are the rolling of pens over paper. Slowly, the teacher comes to his desk, and he lifts his head to look her in the eye.

“I didn’t know—”

“That’s alright,” she cuts in, gently. “I gave this test to be able to talk to you, as I knew there was someone new. I’m Miss MacTaggert. I teach English, as you may have understood, but also drama.” She takes the blank paper on his desk. “You won’t have to do that test, but don’t expect any treatment of favour during the year, alright? I need you to do your best. And I need you to be here at every class, without exception. Do you understand?” Her tone is firm, but her eyes and her smile are soft. She must have seen his record, then. The scholarly one, that says he didn’t show up for the last weeks of the previous year.

After the encounter.  _ That _ , they don’t know about.

His gaze goes to his hands and he stares, hard.

“Yes, ma’am,” is all that passes through his gritted teeth.

“But Erik?” she cuts through his spiralling thoughts. He looks at her once again. “”We’re here for you, okay?”

They exchange a glance for a fistful of seconds, then she nods and turns around, going back to the headboard. Erik flips his English manual open and rummages through the summary, trying to focus on something, anything.

“Alright everybody, five minutes left!”

Some students growl and the scratching of pens on paper gets frenzied. The guy from the library has gone back to his first position—gazing at the clouds raiding the sky.

Erik needs to think.

*

Erik goes to the shop right after the end of the last double period for his first trial, and walks along the cars parked down the road waiting for students. He recognizes some of them from classes shared during the day.

The boy from the library walks slowly in front of him, flanked at both sides by two taller guys, one blond and one dark-haired with thick glasses. Erik recognizes that one from his advanced physics class.  _ Hank _ , maybe. He’s not sure. He only knows because the boy had lifted his hand to answer every damn question the teacher asked, and it had amused the instructor. The three of them talk animatedly until they reach a sleek black car, and then the boy from the library stops and waves his companions goodbye, smiling. 

Another face from this morning is waiting there, leaned on the trunk—the girl that looked at Erik with curiosity before his first class. She wears a jacket the colour of the High School sports team--blue, with white sleeves, a shark on the back. As Erik passes them, he notes the scowl on her face and the suddenly closed-off expression on the boy’s. Without a word, she throws the butt of her cigarette to the ground  before stomping on it, and they each reach a door and climb inside the car, its engine roaring to life. They leave the curb smoothly and disappear quickly into traffic.

Hank and the other boy have stopped at the juncture near the sports field. The blond one, square-jawed, a dimple in the middle of the chin, smiles openly as he faces the other boy, who is more the blushing, I-like-to-look-at-the-floor type. Erik hears them as he approaches.

“Alright, Bozo, see you tomorrow for the project, thank you for volunteering,” exclaims the blond, as he lands a heavy hand on Hank’s shoulder, like he’s trying to hammer him into the ground with the gesture.

“I have a name,  _ Alex _ .” Hank tries to scowl, too, but it only makes the other laugh and him blush even more. To his shoes, he adds with a low, uncertain voice, “Don’t make me regret it so soon.”

Alex takes his leave at that. With a loud “See ya!”, he  walks to the crossing. Hank continues on his way and soon, both of them are gone from Erik’s sight. 

*

When he gets home, his mother is seated on the couch with the old TV on, but she’s concentrating over the knitting on her lap.

He drops his schoolbag near the entrance of his room before joining her.

“How was your day, Schatz?” she asks as she looks at him, pausing her movements.

“Fine,” he answers. “Got my books and my locker. A few classes that went fine.”

She turns her body to him, listening raptly. “Did you meet some fellow students? Made friends?”

Erik sighs. His mother thinks he’s still ten.

“No, Mama, you know I don’t want to. I want to be left alone and to finish the year and be done with it all. I don’t want to  _ make friends _ .”

“Erik…” she sighs, as Erik stands up. “There’s some food ready to heat up on the stove!” she tells him over her shoulder as he leaves the tiny living room.

He stops in his tracks. His dear mother, always thinking about his well-being. It’s not her fault he screwed everything up. It’s not her fault it happened and he didn’t save him. It’s not her fault he completely messed up for the few years afterwards. He stays a little while longer in the doorway, back still turned to her, knowing fully that she’s looking at him. He’s staring at the floor, tightening and slacking his jaw repeatedly, his fists tightly clamped at his sides.

“I went to the store after school.” He offers it as a peace treaty.

“I know,” his mother answers, back to her initial position, speaking louder to be sure he hears her. It’s easier this way, not having her grey eyes--the ones he inherited--boring right through his skull.  He turns the stove on with a flick of his fingers and lingers in the cramped hall. His voice carries his words to his mother as he leans against the plaster, his head thumping twice before resting there.

“It went well, I think. They seem to be really nice people. I stacked the food and supplies, cleaned the stockroom.” Erik goes to the kitchen, stirs the food in the pot. As always, it smells heavenly. One day, he thinks silently. One day, Edie will be able to rest. She won’t have to take care of the food after work, she won’t have to take care of her troubled son. One day, he will be the one to take care of her. She has suffered enough, all alone with a dangerous child.

He serves his food on a plate and joins her again in the living room. The news on the television busies his mind, the repeated movement on his right soothes him.

His brain is silent.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be like Raven. Throw your cigarettes in a trashcan (after having extinguished it, of course)
> 
> Once again, eternal thanks to the wonderful [Mikanskey](https://mikanskey.tumblr.com/) for her delightfully beautiful art <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments. It brightens my days <3

.

It takes a few days to learn his way inside the buildings, and more names. It takes less time to make them understand he doesn’t want to be approached, to have friends. His glare is usually enough to get them all out of his way.

He’s had his first gym session, too, and has felt an immediate and intense feeling of disgust upon meeting the teacher, Mister Shaw. The man drips of self-contentment, and Erik hasn’t liked the way Shaw has looked him over when he entered the field. His small, beady eyes have followed Erik for the whole lesson, his smile greedy and slightly sick. Erik hasn’t stayed much after practice.

His second meeting with Logan goes pretty much as well as the first one; the man has been loud and just everything he’s not supposed to be as a probation worker: smoking inside his own office while being in a meeting with a minor, letting  _ him  _ smoke even though it’s illegal at his age, but still ranting about Erik’s mistakes and more or less trying to get him to react badly. That sure isn’t what Erik ever experienced with his ex-counsellor.

Erik lets a bitter laugh escape his throat. He might have left a city where everyone knows him and what he has done, but now he’s surrounded by a whole lot of creepy bastards. In a city as big as New-York, he wouldn’t have thought that possible.

He’s smoking, perched at his window now that his mother is asleep, and the sky on this Friday night is clear. He can’t see any stars, though. There’s too much light, even in the Bronx. Far away, the skyscrapers taunt him. He lets his power slip, expand, oh so slowly, to reach every foundation, every house, every tower. His mind wraps around each beam, slides inside each rivet, follows each water pipe, and holds tight. Sometimes, Erik toys with the idea that he could yank at them all, destroying every damn building, killing everyone in the vicinity, and be done with it all. The metal sings to him, ready to answer to his every command.

Erik inhales some smoke. Holds. Exhales. The ash at the tip of the cigarette is going to fall.

A light flashing in the corner of his eyes catches his attention. It’s just a car passing by his neighbourhood, but it reminds him of something else entirely.

He doesn’t recall much from that night. Sometimes he wishes... 

Most days, he doesn’t.

The headlights coming closer on his right. The piercing noise of the horn, of the blocked tires on the drenched asphalt.

A hand crushing his torso against the seat.

And then the impact.

Erik comes back to himself, panting. He’s on his back, sprawled on the floor. His cigarette has left his hand and rolled over on his carpet. The incandescent tip has carved a black hole before dying out.

“Shit!”

He scrambles to his feet to pick the cigarette up and throw it. He checks the damage, and curses himself again.

Only then does he notice the fallen metal objects surrounding him, still simmering, answering his unconscious call.

He listens intently. Doesn’t hear anything. He didn’t wake his mother with his relapse.

He sinks back to the ground, circles his knees with his arms and tucks his head as low as possible between them, until his whole spine hurts. Until his chin digs into his breastbone, until his distraught heart resonates in his whole body.

*

Erik hasn’t slept a wink all night. When his alarm rings at 6, he slowly unfolds his body from his position on the carpet, joints creaking. His muscles hurt, but he works even harder on them, his mind a storm as the headache from lack of sleep starts to stiffen his neck.

After his shower, he drinks a coffee and leaves for the grocery store. His shades are not sufficient enough to fight the sunrays that burn his tired retinas, and the temperature is still high enough to think of a summer’s day.

He’s welcomed by Liora, who is trying to get the iron curtain to open.

It’s the first time he comes at opening hour, and he realizes quickly that something is wrong with the mechanism.

“Here, let me have a look,” he says. Liora straightens up and steps back as Erik touches the metal. He doesn’t really need to touch to repair the curtain, but feeling the iron heating up and humming under his fingers is soothing. The reel is slightly out of its axis, preventing it from working correctly, but with a little nudge, everything comes back in order. He grasps the curtain and lifts it easily.

“Thank you, Erik, you’re so kind. Something less to hurt my shoulders, thanks to you!” Liora exclaims. “Come inside, we have a lot of work to do!”

*

Erik sweeps the floor and dusts the shelves while Liora busies herself with the cash register, and when he’s done, he helps her with inventory. The morning flies by, busy as he is. There’s a few customers who come and have a chat for a while with his employer, and he notes some looks cast over him. The kindness with which Liora talks about him and his work is enough to warm some of them up a bit about ‘that new, screwed-up kid that looks like an ex-convict’—their words, not his.

In the middle of the afternoon, he’s busy restocking the aisle dedicated to pharmacy products--checking prices and labels and making sure everything is clearly visible. They don’t have much, as they don’t sell prescription meds, but general stock is sufficient in case someone is hurt—bandages, antiseptic sprays. Wound cleaners and various types of creams. Erik remembers using them all on his ecchymosis and hurt muscles after loitering too long in Pittsburgh’s streets with his friends. _ ‘Friends’  _ who gave him as much as he gave them--hits, distrustful respect, and a helping hand when someone was in trouble with another group.

Erik misses it, sometimes. The primal reaction of the mind. The  _ hit or get hit _ reflexes he earned back then. Tampering the adrenaline rush to control the opponent. Earning a name by crushing, tearing, yanking anything he can. Anything metallic, anything that his fists wouldn’t catch.  _ Magneto _ .

The chase afterwards.

The blood.

The blood calling him.

He jumps back to reality when someone clear their throat behind him.

“Excuse-me,” he says, hastily finishing his rearrangement of the bandaid packages before stepping back and reordering the empty cardboard boxes, not lifting his eyes from his hands. He realizes he still holds the blade he used to cut the tape, and drops it inside the upper box. Better not to be seen with it.

“Oh, it’s you. I didn’t know you worked here,” comes the light, British-accented voice, now beside him.

Erik stills.

He has heard this voice. At school. In English classes. In the library. Near his locker.

He slowly turns his head. Brilliant blue eyes. Sinful too-red mouth. A face he’d like to fuck, as long as it stays silent. The guy who is always dressed as a posh Brit in fancy button-downs. Who has the locker above his own. Who gets all the good grades and compliments from the teachers, even in a week’s worth of lessons. Who gets all the attention, actually.

Dislike is a feeble word to describe what Erik feels for this kind of people.

“It’s Charles, remember? From school?” The guy seems to hesitate, to lose a bit of his haughtiness.

Charles. Interesting name. Posh name. Erik only grunts in acknowledgment, going back to work.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” Charles continues. Erik freezes. Of course, he hasn’t showed up in only a tee-shirt this week, and everything else is hidden besides his right hand. “How many do you have?”

Erik turns abruptly to him. “Uh, is ‘ _ ask me questions about my life _ ’ written on my forehead? Nah, didn’t think so.”

It seems to work, as Charles turns beet-red. Erik can see him swallowing.  _ Good. Make that stupid brat uncomfortable and give him a piece of your mind about his nosy behaviour. _

“Oh, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” Charles spits, british accent suddenly thicker. “I didn’t realise you were sworn to secrecy! How  _ silly _ of me to try and make small talk!”

His fists tighten in a well-known reflex.

“Oh please just shut up,” he spits. “What the fuck are you actually doing here, in this shitty Jewish grocery store in the middle of the Bronx?” Erik continues, his anger truly rising now. “Don’t you have anything like this in your upper-class town, where your  _ chauffeur _ can drop you, preferably somewhere with golden doors?”

The boy is actually livid, now.  _ Good _ , he thinks.

“And who’s asking personal questions now? You know what,” Charles starts, looking at him with anger painted all over his face. Oh, Erik enjoys that. “I’m not even surprised you don’t have any friends, seeing how you just  _ talk _ to people. You don’t know anything about me, so don’t even start on how I should live my life.”

Charles quickly grabs some disinfectants and bandages without looking at the shelf. He then backs away, items in hand and still looking at Erik, but turns away at the end of the alley to go to the cashier. Erik moves quickly, stopping just out of Liora’s earshot.

“Great, ‘cause I wouldn’t even want to have a friend like  _ you _ .  _ You _ represent everything I  _ hate _ .”

Charles doesn’t even give him any indication he has heard him.

Erik’s heart beats fast, pumping blood in his limbs. He definitely missed this.

*

By the time the next customer comes in, Erik has cooled down and finished getting everything in order. He helps the old man carry his basket, as he seems to have trouble walking with his cane already. The man babbles as they go through every alley, talking about his life, the war. Erik just listens, sometimes hums in agreement to get him to continue. He has interesting things to say. Erik doesn’t see them, but he can only guess the numbers on his left forearm. Those that so many Jews still wear with shame and hate with all of their heart. Random numbers to rip them from their humanity. Cattle.

Getting tattoos willingly as a Jew has taught Erik that many, or rather most, of his peers won’t accept him. That’s something he’s come to an understanding with.

He barely accepts himself anyway.

*

He ends up emptying the cart in front of Liora, as she checks everything out. The old man waits for his items and slowly packs them in his bags.

Liora’s gaze is piercing through Erik, and he tries not to dwell on it, until it becomes too much.

“What?” he asks, perhaps a bit too harshly.

She just smiles at him. “I didn’t know you knew Charles. He’s such a good boy. I’m so glad he’s not alone. And neither are you.”

Erik nearly drops the milk carton on the floor. “What?” he repeats, this time more incredulously. “I don’t even know him, we have some classes together but that’s all. I don’t want to be his  _ friend _ or whatever.”

“Maybe time will change that…” Erik doesn’t answer. “Maybe you could accompany Mister Epstein back home, carry his bags? You can go home straight after that. What do you think?”

Erik observes her for a bit before taking the bags. “Fine,” he consents. “Thank you, see you on Monday.”

“See you, have a nice Sunday with your mother, Erik.”

“I will.”

Erik leaves with the old man, slowing his steps so that he stays right next to him, ready to jump in if the creaking legs show any kind of weakness.

*

The sun shines brightly on Monday morning. Erik soon chucks his jacket off as he walks to school. The temperature is not really high but his blood is pumping fast after his daily routine.

He soon arrives at school, his steps wide and efficient, and goes to his locker. He opens it with a flicker of his hand and drops the books he won’t need for now. He feels someone approaching him from the side—too close, too close—by their zipper and change in their jeans’ pocket. He doesn’t raise his gaze from where he’s crouching on the floor but stays alert. Judging by the noise their shoes make, it’s a girl.

“Oh, so you’ve got tats? Cool.” The voice is definitely feminine, albeit a bit broken. “I'm Raven.” She seems so full of confidence, walking to him like that.

He rises to his feet again, straightens so that he towers over her, even if she’s not so small after all. Their eyes meet. He looks her dead in the eyes before detailing her face. She’s got blond hair that waves over her shoulders, blue eyes and round, peachy cheeks. Almost a baby face, if she hadn’t have such a nice, curvy body under a tank top and the school team's jacket.

“Nice to meet you,  _ Raven _ , now get the fuck out of here,” he snaps, boring his eyes into her with a nasty expression in the hopes to watch her flee. He closes his locker with a sharp move of his hand, showing off some power to intimidate her. She merely smiles at him.

“Nice try,” she says, as her eyes flash a deep, vibrant yellow. “But you’re not the only one with tricks over here, you know.”

He’s about to tell her to kindly fuck off before he makes her, but her head snaps to the side, and her expression, merely friendly until then, turns icecold. “Great. He’s here.” She seems so disgusted that Erik can’t stop but looking in the same direction. Charles is coming their way, in a deep argument with Hank.

As soon as the boy spots them side by side, he stops in his tracks, as much talking as walking, leaving Hank to continue for a few footsteps before realizing his friend has stilled. Charles is positively livid, and his eyes jump from Raven to Erik and back. Erik scold at him, and the glare Raven is giving him too has the same effect.

Erik can count the seconds before Charles reigns his emotions and his face, haughtily looking at them before resuming his walk to them, to his locker.

Just as he comes by, Hank glued at his side, Raven sneers out, “ _ Loser, _ ” and walks away. Erik shrugs before following her out of there.

With a “See you, Lehnsherr,” she leaves him in front of her classroom. And well, at least he’s not the only one hating that stupid first-in-class, all-friendly brat.

Too bad, though, that the sod looks so fucking good when he’s angry.

Charles barges in not too long after him in their own classroom, his face so red Erik barely sees the difference with his lips. He comes right to Erik's desk.

“You. Whatever you’re trying to do,” he whispers, voice so angry it sometimes breaks higher, “You leave my sister out of it!”

He’s got an accusing finger pointing at Erik, and Erik's eyes travel from it to Charles’ face multiple times, not really believing the state the boy is in.

“Your sister, really?” Erik scoffs. “You don’t even look alike! She's...” Charles stares at him, seemingly ready to explode. “Whatever. That’s none of your business, what I do to your sister. I’m rather certain she wouldn’t like you to meddle with her life, if what I’ve seen is relevant.” Erik smirks, because he knows for a fact that his smile is terrorizing for even the strongest of thugs.

His arms are crossed over his chest, he’s slumped over his chair in a faux slouch, but his feet are firmly tanked to the ground, and he’s ready to get up at the tiniest sign that Charles would try to grab him, the desk not much of an obstacle even without his powers.

Charles continues to glare, his breathing fast and noisy. They stay like that a little while longer, but they are interrupted by MacTaggert's arrival. With a last challenging look, Charles finally retreats to his desk on the front row.

Erik’s gaze is automatically drawn to his ass.  _ That _ is definitely a fine ass. Erik would sure love to knead and spank it, even in those ugly trousers.

Too bad Charles is such a jerk, or rather a blushing maid that fears for his  _ sister _ instead of himself by confronting Erik.

Charles turns his head and watches him briefly over his shoulder, looking murderous. Erik raises his eyebrows, challenging him to take the bet. What would Charles do, with his tiny human fists against someone like Erik? Someone who has known violence, who has known _ physical detention _ after what happened in his previous school? That’s not a posh little weak thing that would make him back down from anything.

Smirking, Erik concentrates on the lesson, and soon stores the whole situation far away in his brain.

He doesn’t have any other classes in common with Charles that day. That doesn’t stop the guy from getting in his way at each recess, when they both need to access their lockers, sharing cutting glances.

 

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for the wonderful comments and all the kudos!  
> Love you!

.

 

He first hears the whispers two days later, when another abnormally hot day for mid-September has him removing his light sweater and the rest of his class sees the harsh black lines covering his arms.

He first notices the side looks when he walks in the hall, the hands covering mouths to hide the movement of lips speaking of him. He glares, and sometimes it makes them back away.

Had it started on Monday? He doesn’t even remember, focused as he was on his fight with Charles. Maybe he’s the one telling everybody else to look at the new, scumbag kid and his illegal tattoos. Not that he cares much what the others think. As long as they leave him alone.

He’s still mulling over this idea on Thursday night, when he leaves work early to go see Logan, his crazy counsellor. The beast of a man is already chewing on his cigar when Erik arrives. Does the man ever leave that shit out of his mouth? 

Erik wonders.

“You’re going to get some shit like tongue cancer you know?” Erik grunts as he sits on the chair opposite Logan.

“How nice of you to fuss over my well-being, kid, but I can manage myself, unlike some other people in this room. See, I don’t have only a nice pair of claws. I’ve got some other surprises stowed away, trust me.” But he puts the cigar down for a while.

After a pause and some fidgeting with Erik's file, he starts talking again. “So. You’ve been in this new school of yours for almost two weeks. How is it going?”

Erik is surprised by the question. When they last saw each other, Logan seemed to care about Erik almost as much as the cockroach slowly climbing the wall of his office.

Erik scowls and says, “Fine.”

But Logan scoffs. “Bullshit. Kid, I know you’re lying.”

Erik looks at him, blinks, and swallows his saliva. “I’m not.”

“Right,” Logan says. “Too bad you can’t see your own face. I won’t even mention the defensive position you’ve taken as I asked that. Just look at your damn arms, for fuck's sakes.”

Erik hasn’t even noticed having crossed them until Logan mentions it. He makes the effort of putting each hand on the armrests. “It’s fine,” he repeats, schooling his features.

They watch each other in silence for a while, and Logan is the first to break it. “Look, you’ve been here barely two weeks. Try to bottle all that rage up for a bit longer, would you? I don’t want you to ruin my stats so fucking fast.”

With that, he reaches for his cigar and lights it. It’s the cue for Erik that Logan’s done speaking and that Erik can roll and light his own cigarette.

When their time together is up, Erik stands, crushes his cigarette butt in the ashtray, grabs his bag and sweater, and leaves without another word.

*

Any tiny hope of keeping a low profile in school is dead and gone by the time he gets in on Friday morning.

Every student openly stares at him as he crosses the hall, whispers barely hidden, and he finally understands why so many eyes bore into his back when he reaches his locker.

Someone has found it funny to place a grainy copy of the article covering that dreadful night just above his locker, at the right height to be visible and readable for every-fucking-one.

He recognizes the shitty article from afar, as he knows it by heart now, from all the times he has read it over and over and over again, persuaded that everything had been his fault. It has a picture of him, his face blurred, much younger. Beside him, the wreckage.

On Charles’ locker. Is he the one who put that here? Is he the one who has rummaged in some deep-shit local news from Pittsburgh to humiliate him? Hurt him?

Erik feels positively murderous, right now.

He stomps to the locker under the students’ scrutiny and tears the piece of paper, immediately reducing it to a shrunken ball, and his vision is turning red, he needs to destroy, he needs to punch, he needs to—

Even before he registers anything, his fist has collided with Charles’ locker door, and the metal is bending under his assault, and the pain travels from his knuckles past his wrist and elbow and straight to his shoulder and neck and—

He feels the rage taking control of his senses, his mind focusing on the violence and the snickers that filter through the white noise invading his ears. He reaches, takes control of all the little things he can feel, ready to bend their owners as he bent people in the past—ruthlessly, without any second-guessing—and he’s just about to do it when he feels a massive wave hitting him from behind, knocking the air out of his constricted lungs.

He doesn’t even know if it’s physical or in his head, he’s so lost, disoriented, as all of his purposeful wrath is washed away as he sinks to his knees, barely holding himself on his fists, his head hitting his own locker and resting there.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

He closes his eyes.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Sits back on his haunches.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

He’d been so close to losing it once again.

“LEHNSHERR!” he hears as rapid footsteps echo through the corridor, and startles at the power in this voice.

Erik rises to his feet on autopilot, opens his eyes. He finally sees the indent he has left on Charles’ locker, and touches the metal with his fingertips, following every cavity and dent, as much to form it back to normal as to ground himself back in reality. He feels like he could zone out again, he feels unstable. He’s shaken, realizing now that everyone must have seen his biggest secret, the thing that no one here could ever understand, the thing that destroyed him and broke his soul.

When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd. Most of the students watch him with horror written all over their faces, frozen in place. Some look at him with clear disgust, condemning him all over again—most probably baseline humans repulsed by mutants.

And Charles.

Charles is standing here, in front of them, all of them, and his face is unreadable as his clear blue eyes sink into Erik, pierce him like blades thrown at him. This is what hurts the most. This is the thing Erik has kept so close to his heart for all those years that it became the major part of his armour, and now, even  _ Charles _ knows about it, probably hating him even more than before.

Hate, Erik can manage. Disgust, judgment… that’s what will bring him back into this nightmare.

Just like when it happened.

But he can’t delve into that, as Professor Shaw arrives next to him.

“Lehnsherr. My office, now.” The same voice that shouted just before.

Erik tears his eyes from Charles and follows the teacher, ready to face the consequences of his acts once again.

*

Shaw opens the door to his office on the move, and Erik discovers a small room, a cramped space occupied by an old desk that must have belonged to a classroom, under a small, filthy window. The metal shelves on the walls are covered with old, mismatched sports material, punctured footballs, a lone rollerblade, and countless broken tennis rackets.

The teacher goes to his desk and sits behind it as if he owned a palace instead of this ratty broom closet. He motions for Erik to close the door.

“Well, what was that thing I witnessed, my dear Erik? Would you care to explain?”

His voice is as mellow as it was during the gym classes, and Erik barely suppresses a shiver. He doesn’t know what this man wants, and he feels sick just by having Shaw’s eyes on him. He stays resolutely silent.

“From my point of view,” Shaw continues after understanding he wouldn’t get an answer, “something bothered you this morning, and you lashed out, not caring about using your powers inside the school. I have to punish you for that, sadly, because you put other students in danger. You’ll stay after class tonight. I’m sure we can find something to do. I’ll ask MacTaggert. She always have brilliant ideas for detention, for a human.”

Erik’s attention snaps at the menace, not registering his last sentence.

“I can’t, professor, I’ve got to go to work. I can’t lose my job.” Erik fumes, because it’s only been a week or two and he doesn’t want the Davids to think that he doesn’t care about their business. It’s important to him, having a job to ground him and relieve his mother of the burden he represents. He can’t even imagine the face Edie will do when she’ll learn about what happened today. Erik will always find a way to hurt his mother, even if he doesn’t want to.

His heartbeat quickens as he sees Shaw slowly shaking his head, his sick smile in place.

“Now, now. That’s something you should have thought about beforehand, don’t you think?” Shaw admonishes. “Now that it’s settled, I want you to know that I’m not the man that makes the rules. If I were, I would rather punish the human that put  that piece of paper on the lockers. Because we both know it was a human that did it, right? Who would get in your way with a clear mutant mind?”

“It was you, wasn’t it? It was you that intervened—” but Erik snaps his mouth shut, not ready to ask if this weird teacher is the one who obviously messed with his head to crush the flame of his anger under loads of virtual water.

The interruption doesn’t seem to bother Shaw, as he continues to talk. “You and I are not so different. We both have been hurt by humans. But I can help you. You can talk to me about anything. You can trust me. But first, I want to hear what this paper was about. Come on.”

Erik looks at his hand still clutching the paper ball. Forces his fingers to unclench, letting the sphere appear in his palm. He makes it move slightly for a little while, observing its movements inside his broad palm, muscles flexing beneath his flesh. He contemplates his choices, and ends up letting the small paper ball fall on the desk in front of him.

He stays silent as Shaw slowly unfolds the compact piece of paper and then flattens it out on the desk.

Even from upside down, he can clearly read the title in bold font. As if he didn’t know it by heart:  _ Mutant Kills His Father While Waking His Powers _ .

.


	5. Chapter 5

.

He’s late when he goes back to class. Everyone’s already seated and they gawk at him as he takes his own desk. Sure, knowing that one of your classmate is a murderer can shake pretty much anybody.

Each. And. Every. One of them. Is looking at him right now. And barely a third was already here before he removed the poster from Charles’ locker. Great. What a lovely day.

The teacher chastises them and the lesson finally starts. Erik’s not much into it.

He’s trapped here. At the slightest move, he knows they’ll freak out.

He keeps his eyes locked on his sheet, but can’t seem to decipher any word written on it.

A few hours later, MacTaggert finds him during recess. That’s not so hard, knowing that he has stayed inside the classroom to try and not see any more terrified and loathing looks. The whole school knows, now. It won’t take long before it lashes back to him. He can’t even understand why someone would do that to another human being. No matter how much they hate them. Why,  _ why _ do people feel the need to stir the past, knowing fully the damages they can do in consequences? He can’t even understand how they  _ did _ find him. The headlines were from a tiny, town-only newspaper. The accident didn’t reach any bigger news. Is it possible that it ended up in some archive on the internet? How?

He barely listens to what she says or registers how she acts around him. He can manage students. He won’t be able to do so with adults. He won’t stand it. He won’t stand to be seen as the broken, remorseful kid. He’s not weak. He’s not guiltless, either. The papers didn’t lie. He  _ did _ kill his father as his body decided to kick the genes and wake his power to protect him.

“Alright,” she says as she sits in the chair next to him, trying to make eye contact with him. “Now, listen to me. We are trying to find out who did that. Be sure that we will take care of it, we won’t let it go unpunished. So first, promise me to not seek revenge on your own. It is not your job.” She waits for a bit, and he feels scrutinized, so he nods to let her know that he won’t. Yet.

“Good,” she starts back. “Now, about your punishment. I will need you to come to the theatre room next to the gym after class. I teach drama, remember? We have a big rehearsal tonight, and one of the techs has called in sick, so I’m in need of some muscles. The students worked on it during the summer vacation and the first representations will start soon, I can’t fail them now. So I could use a hand with decor and stuff, okay? It’ll be enough of a sentence. But I need to remind you of the contract you signed when you transferred here, as a mutant: you’re not supposed to use your powers at school. Minor uses can be tolerated, but you need to stay put, whatever happens. Can I count on you for that?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answers.

As she takes her leave, he berates himself. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks. Ten days inside this school and he’s already messed up. He guesses he must feel lucky not to be shown to the exit already.

*

He manages to call the store to let them know he won’t be able to come tonight just as he crosses the fields to the theatre. Adriel wants to know what happened, but Erik succeeds in making him forget for a while because he can’t even think of them knowing  _ that _ thing, and worse, discovering it by phone. If anything, that’s something he needs to tell them in person, to be able to see their reaction as well. But the man understands and doesn’t push any further. He even tells Erik that he’ll see him the next day. He’s not fired, then.

He ends the call as he reaches the building, and drops his backpack on a seat when he arrives inside the theatre room. It’s rather small, but has nothing to envy to a professional theatre. The stage is wide enough, the seats, even if they look old, seem plush and are covered in red velvet, and the slight steep to get to the stage is well illuminated.

There’s a group at the foot of the stage, composed, from what Erik can see from his vantage point, of students already in costumes. And there’s someone whose profile he particularly recognizes, even from the back of the head.

_ Wonderful _ . Charles fucking Xavier is part of the theatre troupe. Of  _ fucking _ course! That’s just the icing on the tremendous shit cake that is today.

It couldn’t be any different. That’s so… So  _ posh _ , so intrinsically  _ him _ . Hank is there, too, his lanky frame floating inside his costume and his glasses constantly sliding on his nose.

MacTaggert is in the middle of the group, talking animatedly, with her hands moving widely around her. They all seem focused on her, with their costumes and make-up, ready to jump back in whatever they are playing as if there weren’t any disruption.

She then notices him and waves for him to approach. “Oh, great, you’re here! Would you mind moving this tent décor and change it with the castle walls?” All the students turn in one movement to see who’s coming, and their faces fall when they understand that it’s not their usual technician, but also who it is. Understandable. Some ashen under their make-up, others, meaning  _ Charles _ , roll their eyes. 

He turns to Hank with a not so discreet “Oh no, not  _ him _ …” and Erik is ready to jump on him to kindly ask why the fuck did he put that horrible news article on his own locker this morning, because who else would have done that? Charles has known for Erik’s tattoos before anyone else. Has he searched for anything compromising ever since?

And now,  _ now _ , with his Shakespearean costume and his make-up and his fucking  _ hair _ and cherry-red mouth, what does he fucking want?

Erik inhales loudly, biting down a sharp comment, but burns with the envy to pound Charles’ face with his fist right now, right there, to see if his blood is as red as his lips, to see if the boy can do anything else but scowl, and his fist is ready, knuckles tight against his palm and muscles prepared to snap into movement. His steps stay the same, but his blood pumps into the arteries, electrifying him. He’s got some pent up tension to exhaust, and this is as good a reason as anything else. 

_ Charles is the guy that brought this all up, that tried to bring him to his knees. He won’t go down without a fight, never— _

The murderous glare that MacTaggert sends in Erik’s direction must equal his own, because he automatically slows down and get his ideas of revenge in check.

_ Right _ . He has to believe what she said earlier. That the teachers have it, that the one responsible for that will be punished.

He’s sure, anyway, that if the subject ever dies down, he’ll be here to take the matter in his own hands.

He brushes past the group and goes on the stage, ready to move the different pieces of décor.

By the time he’s finished, they all have gone back into place and the rehearsal resumes. Erik is not even surprised to see that Charles is at the centre of the stage. He can see the whole lot of them from where he is in the backstage. Erik recognizes the play. Charles plays  _ Macbeth _ , of all pieces. How ironic, for someone who thinks he’s the king of the school.

Charles seems to have forgotten Erik’s presence, and is wholeheartedly into his role of a mad king.

And if Erik can’t deny his physical attraction to Charles despite his rotten mind, it’s even worse here, under the spots. Charles has a grace, an ease on the stage that Erik wouldn’t have imagined when crossing path in the corridors. And it just makes Erik grit his teeth. That damn bastard.

Without even moving a finger nor his eyes, Erik moves the spotlights out of Charles, making them go anywhere but on him. Charles doesn’t react, but Erik sees the light technician move frantically to his console. The light goes back to Charles’ face, who hasn’t stopped reciting his lines.

So Erik just move them out again.

And again, when they come back into place.

He does that a few more times before noticing that it hasn’t been that much subtle, as Charles looks in his direction. Erik just pretends to be busy with the next décor, as if he wasn’t even aware of what’s going on. He does a fairly good job at not looking Charles in the eyes until the end of the rehearsal.

He helps to get all the equipment sorted under MacTaggert’s supervision when they all finish.

It’s late in the evening already, and all the students are hurrying to get home on this Friday night. The weekend is here, and with it, the parties. There’s not many students left in the changing room, and it’s almost silent. Erik takes a few minutes to just breathe, seated at the top of the theatre room on one of the plush seats. He’s lost in his thoughts when he hears a door closing in the backstage. Someone is still there. His satchel over his shoulder, Charles appears behind the curtains, seemingly lost in thoughts. He crosses the stage, plops on the ground, and walks up the steps to the exit. He notices Erik late enough to be just a few meters from him, but doesn’t stop, doesn’t say anything.

No, Charles just glares daggers at him, dripping muted rage in his direction. That’s a look Erik knows so well. That’s a look that oddly fits Charles. The thought makes Erik smirk sharply.

But no, that’s not only fury in Charles’ baby blue eyes. Erik frowns. There’s something under it, something that looks like disappointment. But it all goes so fast that he’s not as sure as he would like to be. Charles, looking so bitter about Erik?

Erik wasn’t prepared for that, but before he can react, Charles has disappeared through the door.

But why?

*

When Erik finally goes home, he’s truly, thoroughly exhausted. He has walked home, as always, but it has taken him way more time than usually. His head is ducked, his footsteps shuffling.

He crosses the hall directly to him room, drops his bag by the door, and falls over his sheets—that are not even cool—his arms coming to circle his pillow as his head burrows into it. He sighs, and removes his shoes with his toes.

A few seconds later, as he starts having trouble breathing against the cotton, he turns his head to the wall, trying to rein his feelings in. But right now, all he want to do is to crawl under his blanket and curl in a tight ball. Not moving until the next day, or the next month.

He turns and does just that, circling his knees with his arms as his forehead rests against the wall. He reaches for the building’s foundations, follows them in his head, analyses each turn, each cross, but is interrupted by a knock on his door.

It’s his mother, of course. She watches him from the threshold, waiting for him to acknowledge her. So he turns, slowly, and nods to her. She’s carrying two mugs and a small plate covered in plastic film.

Erik straightens his legs to give her enough space on the bed, and she sits after leaving the plate and the steaming mugs on his nightstand. Tea and biscuits. The gesture makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, his eyes filling with unshed tears.

“Oh  _ Schatz _ ,” she says, landing a small hand on his jaw, caressing his skin and his hair slowly, just as she did when he was a kid. He closes his eyes. Tries to breathe evenly.

But his throat is constricted, and his eyes burn too much. He opens them as the first tears burst over his lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mama.” His voice croaks, already taken by the emotions twirling inside of him. “I tried, I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t say much, keeps caressing his face and his hair as she slowly hums the air of an old Jewish song she used to sing to him to calm him down and catches some of the pearls that roll over his cheekbone, following the dips of his nose.

When he finally does calm, she moves just a bit, leaning over him to drop a rare kiss on his cheek.

“Come on, Schatz, sit up,” she says gently.

He obeys, crossing his legs on his bed and leaning his back against the wall.

“Here, take that and drink before it’s lukewarm.” She hands him one of the mugs and removes the plastic film over the biscuits before taking her own mug.

He dips his upper lip in the tea to check the temperature, and soon swallows a mouthful of it. The skin on his face feels dry and every movement pulls at it, so he tries to remove the salt on his cheeks by rubbing them with his hands.

His mother is observing him, her eyes as kind as ever.

“I had a call from Mrs David earlier. She explained you couldn’t come to work and she was worried. I thought that something happened during the day.”

“I’ve been punished because I misbehaved, as always. You can’t expect better of me, Mama. I’ve tried, but I can’t. I’m so sorry to disappoint you once again.”

Edie’s hand finds his, squeezing it lightly.

“I’ve never been disappointed in you, Erik. Never.” She places her barely-drunk tea on the nightstand and presents him with the biscuits. “I’ve made them when I came back. Chocolate chips, as you love them. Come on, take one, at least.”

Erik’s smile is shy at first, but her attention warms his heart. He reluctantly releases her hand to grab one and bite into it. Delicious, as always.

“I love you so much, Mama,” he says after swallowing the first bite. He’s not someone who talks a lot about his feelings. He would rather be the opposite, but he has learned the importance of saying those words when his father had been snatched from his life.

Her free hand comes to his arm, soothing him once again.

“I love you more than anything in the world, Erik. Never think any less.”

He finally finds the strength to look her in the eye.

“They found out, Mama. Someone found out about dad and now the whole school knows. The whole school knows I killed him.”

His mother sighs before gripping his forearm.

“Listen to me, Erik.” Her voice is firmer than earlier, with a clear edge of certainty. “I have  _ never _ , ever, blamed you for what happened. What happened was an  _ accident _ —” And she underlines each word with a squeeze on his forearm. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I could have protected us both—” Erik interrupts.

“No. Don’t start. You couldn’t have known your body would react like this. You couldn’t have known this man would run the red light and hit your father’s car. You couldn’t, do you hear me? And I’m glad,  _ so glad _ your body reacted.” She takes a break, breathes deeply. “Because if it hadn’t, it’s not only my husband I would have had to bury, do you understand? I still have you. Of course I miss him. Everyday. But I have you, and you have me. It’s the most important thing. It’s what’s keeping me going. You are what’s keeping me going, Erik, because you’re my  _ son and I love you _ .”

Erik observes his mug trembling in his hand, following the movement his body sets. He’s on the verge of crying again, and draws his knees to his chest once again to land his head on them. He lets the sobs take him.

He feels Edie taking the mug from him and, an instant later, the mattress dipping under her weight as she moves closer to him. Her arm snakes over his shoulders, her hand landing on his opposite arm, as the other slowly caresses his biceps. Her head comes to rest against the top of his own.

They stay like this for a while, his mother soothing his bleeding heart as only a mother knows how. He lifts his head from his knees and lets his brow rest against Edie’s, his right hand coming to cover her own.

A dam has broken, and he has rarely felt so weak in his life, but it was necessary. He had needed the purge. He had needed to open the abscess and let all of its rotten pus wash away.  He feels so weak, but also, strangely enough, stronger.

His mother kisses his temple. “I’ll go make dinner. It will be ready in thirty minutes. Rest until then. I’ll call you to set the table, alright?”

He nods to her and she stands up, fussing one last time with his hair. “Finish your tea, love. We’ll make more after dinner.”

Erik smiles almost shyly. “Do you want to watch a movie afterwards?”

“Sure,” his mother replies. “You pick it up when you come to the kitchen, and I’ll get the ice-cream and the spoons after we eat, okay?”

“Perfect.” His smile is a bit wider, tentative. “Thank you, Mama.”

Edie just looks at him with that fond expression of hers, and leaves.

 

.


	6. Chapter 6

.

 

The next day, Adriel and Liora are happy to see him looking slightly better when he joins them as they open the store. More at peace, as they put it.

His breakdown from the previous night must have helped, because it has been a really long time since he had slept so well. For the first time, he has woken up feeling truly rested.

The day passes quickly as he works. Actually, it’s Monday morning before he has time to blink.

 

*

 

It’s no surprise, when he arrives at school, to see that no one would look him in the eye. People turn their backs, disappear in other halls as soon as he sets foot in a room. Well, there’s no open hatred anymore, at least.

With the conversation he’d had with his mother on Friday night in mind, he doesn’t care at all. Back to his old self, the one that doesn’t fear anything.

He’s as pleased as he is frustrated, however, to see Raven approaching him once again. The girl’s eyes are directed straight to his, and she oozes confidence as she nears him.

“Lehnsherr,” she says.

He nods once to acknowledge her.

When she understands that he won’t answer her, she starts to talk again. “Don’t mind those jerks, they’re all not playing with a full deck, if you know what I mean.” She throws him a meaningful look, a smirk stretching half of her mouth. He turns his attention back to his bag at his feet, and she continues talking, not impressed by his dismissal.

The girl has some balls, he has to admit. He likes that.

“I’m totally with you on that, you know. You’re a powerful mutant, and you’re proud of it. It’s not you who should have to bow down in front of the baselines. Don’t let them ruin you.”

“I won’t,” he answers, and her expression turns from serious to mocking in an instant.

“Oh, but he  _ talks _ !” She laughs.

Erik frowns. “I talked to you last time.”

“You gave me  _ one _ sentence. Now you’re even with your past-self. Will you be able to surpass him?”

“Are you always saying stupid things like this?” he asks, honestly baffled.

“You’ve done it!  _ Two  _ sentences! Well done! Or, should I say, three, if ‘ _ I won’t _ ’ can be considered a sentence.” She purposefully takes her chin between her thumb and forefinger in a thinking pose.

Erik rolls his eyes at that. “You’re too noisy, get out of my face,” he says, but without any bite in it. When he looks at her, he sees that she has understood that much, for the radiant smile she’s giving him.

He puts his bag over his shoulder and they start walking side by side, accepting the presence of the other tacitly.

He mulls over the question that’s been turning inside his head since Friday, but the bell signalling the start of the first lesson cuts him.

Raven turns to him, apologetic. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Only if I let you,” he answers automatically. The smile on her face as she leaves him to join her class lifts his spirits oh so slightly, but lifts it anyway.

 

*

 

And he does. Let her join him at lunch. They share a table in a corner of the cafeteria. The advantage of being a pariah is that absolutely no one dares to approach them, and they have all the room they want.

They eat their sandwiches in silence, at first. But soon, his preoccupations come back to him as fast as a galloping horse.

He raises his gaze to her and observes her fiddling on her phone until she notices he has stopped eating and is watching her.

“What? Do I have salad in my front teeth or something?” She makes a face at her phone’s screen to check, but Erik doesn’t wait for her to say what’s on his mind.

“Do you think your brother put that article on his locker?”

Her face immediately closes off at the mention of Charles. But it’s not something that will stop Erik from asking.

Her eyebrows furrow, and she seems lost in her—visibly displeasing—thoughts for a while.

“I don’t know.” And she seems as disappointed as he feels. “A few years back, I’d have said that he’d never do something like that. I wouldn’t have even hesitated one second. But now… I’m not so sure anymore.”

She plays with her half empty juice carton, moving it back and forth on her tray.

“What happened?” Erik can’t stop himself from asking. Seeing her with so much pain in her eyes right now, not hiding it under the raucous hatred she has shown last time, makes him wonder. Charles’ reaction after that incident, too.

“I… We…” she stops, takes a breath. “We’re not really brother and sister, you see? I’m his stepfather’s daughter. His mother and my father got married when I was five and he was six. We got along as soon as we met, like two normal kids would. My mutation is physical, you see,” Her left hand, the one not playing with the juice, shimmers, and then scales start to appear, to turn onto themselves, becoming blue. Erik is startled, but he soon admires the hand changing, the deep blue skin giving in to what looks like an elderly hand, flesh sparked with brown stains and wrinkles. “I’m a shapeshifter. But my true form is blue. It was alright when we were kid and we mostly stayed at home with our tutors. But we were soon sent to a school by my father, and that’s when Charles started to fuss over me being blue, or me having blazing red hair or eyes yellow like a cat’s, or whatever crossed his mind.”

Erik starts to feel uncomfortable about what Raven is saying.

She takes half a minute before continuing her story. At this point, they both have forgotten the semi eaten sandwiches between them.

“He was  _ ashamed _ of me, of what I could do. I saw it in his eyes every time we took the car to get to school, every time someone came to the mansion to have dinner with my father, every time he  _ asked _ me not to change, to stay in his favourite doll form. I started to feel ashamed of myself, too. To less and less appear in my true form in front of anyone. To build this…  _ persona _ of me that everyone knows. We fought a lot. But it’s over. We don’t talk to each other anymore. It’s pointless. I even have moved out from the wing he lives in. The mansion is big enough not to see him if I don’t want to. So, now, we’re just like strangers sharing a cab every day, twice a day.”

Uncomfortable is a feeble word to qualify what Erik feels right now. He has rarely felt like that for someone that is not his mother, but right now, what he wants is to make Charles  _ fucking _ Xavier pay for that. The only price Erik knows.

His voice is raspy when he finally speaks.

“I don’t care what a  _ huge _ asshole your excuse of a brother is. You should  _ never _ be ashamed of what you are. Do you hear me? We don’t let baselines set the tone on how we should be, how we should look, or how we should act.”

Raven huffs.

“See? That’s what I like about you, Lehnsherr.”

 

*

 

A few weeks pass before it’s Thanksgiving and they all have a few days off from school. He leaves Raven in front of her car with a wave before walking back to the store.

They hit it off pretty quickly, once Erik let her approach him on that day, and he has found out that she can be a rather passable friend—he won’t admit that she can be a  _ good _ friend, but, to his surprise, she  _ is _ . They meet before class, at lunch and before leaving every day, and it feels natural. Without even having to ask for it, they both avoid topics like Raven’s family or Erik’s past, and they find quite a few subjects to discuss together.

Erik likes her natural openness, and mostly the fact that she can go from serious to playful and back to serious again on a whim. It’s… oddly refreshing.

It’s been a quiet few weeks apart from that, with no more sounds from Charles or his friends or other students in general. They all seem to avoid him, and when he passes near them, they just continue their discussions as if he didn’t exist.

It’s a relief, if Erik is honest. He doesn’t have to ignore other students. They do it well enough themselves.

On Thanksgiving’s eve, after a full day of storing new merchandise and cleaning the store, the Davids tell him not to come to work the next day, to enjoy it with his mother. After a profusion of thanks, he leaves the store with his arms full of ingredients to cook something nice to her, for a change.

Edie and Erik spend the day together, as expected, and they seize the occasion to get some work down in the apartment. They had started on Sundays since they moved in, but Erik’s schoolwork usually takes him half of the day and he can’t have anything major started.

He even has the time to make her a nice new metal chair while the chicken breasts are in the oven—why would they cook a whole turkey when it’s only the both of them around the table?

 

*

 

Erik is almost relaxed when Monday comes, and he's nearly glad to see Raven waving at him when he gets to school.

They go to Erik’s locker first, and then to Raven’s, as they have taken the habit in those past few weeks. They’re not talking right now, but the silence is companionable. Erik is not—and won’t ever be—the type of guy to chat meaninglessly about what he has done or not during the days he wasn’t at school. It’s more like Raven, but he knows that she hasn’t done anything special, given that her step-mother barely shows up out of her room these days.

She starts to talk when they go back in front of the school for a last smoke before the first period begins. About her big brother, Cain, who was home from his upper-class high school for Thanksgiving too. And Erik doesn’t even have to ask to know why he’s not in here with Charles and her. She rambles about the fact that her father thinks he’s the one who will take his company’s reins after he retires, because obviously, Charles is not his own son, and Raven is just a  _ girl _ , and girls  _ don’t _ take over working companies.

In order to do that, he must have the best education possible, ergo the private, overpriced boarding school  upstate, all paid for with the Xavier fortune.

They throw their cigarette butts in the trash, exhaling the last of the smoke, before going back inside and separating for the first hours of class.

 

*

 

It’s when the morning’s recess starts that Erik begins to suspect that something has happened again. After those blessed weeks with no one talking to him or even acknowledging him, he notices immediately that the whispers and comments have come back.

He joins Raven in between their two classrooms and wordlessly asks her to follow him to somewhere less crowded. He doesn’t mind them talking about him. It will pass. Soon, he won’t be the new, troublesome kid in here anymore. He counts on it to keep his calm.

They are crossing the hall when some random boy grabs Raven by the wrist, and they both turn to him in surprise.

“You shouldn’t hang around him, he’s dangerous, haven’t you  _ heard _ ?” he says to her, but Raven wrenches her arm from his unwelcome hold. The boy looks at her, but totally ignores Erik, not even glancing his way.

“What the  _ fuck _ you think you’re doing?” she asks, visibly mad.

“He tried to rape some girl at his last school, got in a fight with four other students and put them in the hospital!”

Raven doesn’t answer, but Erik snaps back into focus. He grabs the guy’s t-shirt and hauls him against the next wall. His face comes really close to the other boy’s, and he barely registers Raven’s hand on his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Listen to me, you little shit. You can say whatever the fuck you want, but at least check your intel.” His voice is calm, bordering on frosty. “And you leave her out of any of it. At least, unlike you, she has the balls to talk to my face and  _ that _ earned her my respect. Whereas you just put yourself in  _ trouble _ .” The boy visibly flinches, and Erik smirks, that shark-like smile he knows is only putting more nails on his casket. “Now you get the  _ fuck _ out of here, I don’t want to see your pretty cunt face anywhere near us.”

Erik drops the boy’s shirt and watches him frantically scurrying, almost tripping on his own foot as he runs out of the hall.

Erik turns and takes a look at all the students frozen in place, silently defying them to step up and say what they have in mind, but one by one, their gazes drop.

Raven’s hand is still clutching his arm.

 

*

 

“My dear Erik,” Shaw says at the end of the next gym lesson. Hearing his voice, Erik’s blood freezes in his veins. He stops in his tracks to the changing room and grudgingly turns on his feet. “May I have a word with you?”

Shaw approaches him, placing a hand on Erik’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers slightly around the limb. There’s still students putting the sports equipment aside, but Shaw drags him near the wall, further away from them. He’s standing too close to him for Erik to feel comfortable, but well, he’s comfortable with no one really, so he squashes his need to shiver. Shaw looks at him with a pained expression on his horrible face, and Erik wonders what he wants,  _ again _ . He doesn’t have to wait for long.

“I’ve heard the new gossip. Know that I am sorry for you. I am trying my utmost to contain those foul words by asking the students to stop talking about it when I hear them. I’m sure it’s all nonsense. You wouldn’t attack a girl, would you?”

Erik thinks for a second about everything that Shaw is implying, before shaking his head no.

“Good boy. Now listen. I think it’s time to suggest something to you. You know I also train the Hellfire sports team? Given your excellent physical shape and scores in my class, I would like you to join it.”

“I work every day after school,” Erik answers, swaying slightly on his feet, unease triggering cold shudders between his shoulder blades despite his efforts.

“I know, you told me already. But the meetings are every Friday during lunchtime. What do you think? What about you come to a session to see for yourself? I promise it’s really interesting, and it can actually give you extra points in your sports curriculum.”

Well. It couldn’t hurt to go see that team. He’s not committing to anything yet. And maybe, like that, Shaw would cut him some slack. Erik might even like it, who knows? He desperately needs the exertion. He doesn’t lift that much at work, as the pallets of goods are usually containing at least metallic nuts that he can use, and his daily routine is merely cardio and muscle building exercises.

“Alright,” Erik says, crossing his arms. “I’ll come this Friday to have a look.”

“Great, Erik,” Shaw seems to gloat like a child getting a truly-desired treat, his smile wide and his eyelids halfway shut, even if his pupils look as dead as usual.

 

*

 

“You can’t go.”

Really, people truly enjoy talking to his back, today. Erik stops walking through the hall to join Raven for lunch and sighs. Of course, he has recognized the accent, the voice.

He turns his head, barely acknowledging Charles behind him. Erik slowly follows the line of his body with his gaze, from bottom to top, ending in Charles’ beautiful, brilliant eyes. Once he spots the telling reddening of his cheeks his gesture creates, he turns back and resumes walking.

“Erik, please, listen to me! You  _ can’t _ go to Hellfire!”

Erik snorts. Charles has got some nerves, he has to acknowledge that. There’s bitterness in his voice when he finally answers, “Oh, so you care about me or what I do, now?” He’s still walking, and he hears Charles’ rushed steps behind him, trying to keep up with his own wider strides.

“Yes, of course I do.” Charles answers, and his words drip of condescendence.

Erik’s unstable calm flares, and he turns abruptly, making Charles stop in his tracks to avoid crashing into him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” They’re so close now, and Erik uses all the height he has on Charles to tower on him, restraining from manhandling him just a bit. “How could you possibly know about  _ Hellfire _ ? Are you spying on me or something?”

“No, of course  _ not _ !” Charles replies as he takes a step back. To protect himself or to retain some dignity, Erik doesn’t know. His brows are knitted into a frown, his whole face tense, and his blue eyes are shining with anger. “Alex heard you and Shaw discussing it, that’s all! I didn’t rummage, I  _ don’t _ do that! But you need to trust me,  _ please _ Erik. Don’t go. It won’t bring you anything good.” And Erik sees, he  _ sees _ , that Charles really means it. But how could he have faith in what he says?

“As if I could trust you.” Erik spits. Charles’ expression visibly falls, shrinks to one of deception and hurt.

“Erik…”

“I won’t say it again, and maybe I should tell you properly, so that your posh self would understand. Kindly. Go. Fuck. Yourself. And don’t ever mess with my life again.”

Erik turns and walks away before Charles can say anything.

There are no footsteps following him anymore.

Erik joins Raven at their now usual table. She’s surfing on the internet on her phone. Erik gets his lunch out and settles his bag at his feet.

Raven closes the app and starts chatting happily about something Erik doesn’t really listen to, but he lets her do it as it helps him get the last fight with Charles far away in his mind. No need to bring it up  to his sister, Erik thinks.

He’ll see what the Hellfire has to offer on Friday, and that’ll be all. Charles will just have to suck it up and admit he got it all wrong. Maybe he’ll finally let Erik live his life without trying to meddle.

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting from the middle of a concert in a metal festival! Hope you all had a good week!  
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments!
> 
> By the way, sorry, but I'm not sorry.

.

Erik walks to the football pitch after his morning classes on Friday. He’s a bit late because the teacher ended his lesson five minutes after the bell had rung, causing a massive displeasured noise from the students, but Erik takes his time, smoking a cigarette in between.

When he arrives, he joins the group sitting on the bleachers as one student is talking in front of Shaw and the others. Erik knows that guy. Red-skinned, with a strong Russian accent. Not really the kind to blend in. His name is Azazel, or something like that. A mutant, obviously. He’s holding a stack of colourful papers between his left arm and his chest, as the other arm is wildly moving around. Shaw is at the bottom of the stairs, smiling contentedly as he watches Erik approach. The teacher waves at him and shows him a seat on the front row. Erik takes it and turns his head to the left and right to observe the other team members.  Some he knows by sight, like the blonde girl sitting at the top, who’s always wearing white clothes; some he doesn’t. Some with obvious physical mutations, some without. But he soon understands that they all are mutants, as the other student continues his speech.

“I’m counting on you, brothers and sisters, to put them  _ everywhere _ . We need to spread the word. Mutants exist for a reason, and we need to show the world what it is. Hellfire will rise and clean the planet we live on. Come on.”

As Azazel finishes, he approaches the group and starts giving a bundle of tracts to each student sitting on front, including Erik.

As soon as his eyes land on the slogan, he freezes, earning some throat scraping from behind him. On autopilot, he keeps one sheet and extends his arm behind him for the girl to take the others.

_ Death to the baselines _ , screams the bold font on a blood-red ink stain. The text beneath it doesn’t hold better words, preaching the whole superiority of the Mutant Race.

But he’s interrupted in his reading by Shaw clapping in his hands while standing up.

“Thank you very much, Azazel,” he says as he takes the boy’s place in front of everyone.

Erik feels his insides tighten a little bit more as unease stiffens his spine. Shaw had talked about a sports team. Not an assembly of pro-separatist mutants. What the fuck is he doing here?

“As you may have noticed, we just have acquired a new member today. You certainly have seen him, and if you haven’t, you have heard the terrible rumours that spread about him. He came to us in September, and has shown a great power.” Shaw looks directly at him as he continues, “Erik, I’m sure we will be able to do great things together. Because you, more than anyone else, know what the baselines are capable of. Lying, using your power to make people fear and hate you, trying to make you take the blame for what happened in your last school…” he tuts, shaking his head as if scolding a child. “Help us rise, Erik, and you will never fear any baseline ever again.”

But Erik’s mother is a baseline. His father was a baseline. The Davids are baselines.

Erik slowly rises to his feet, his hand opening to let the sheet of propaganda fall. He feels like the world has slowed down around him, despite the hammering of his heart. He faces Shaw, who looks expectant and delighted at the same time. Erik starts to walk to him, moving away from the students in the bleachers. When he reaches his side, he turns to them.

“I have been wronged, lied to, taken advantage of, but not only by humans. By mutants, too. And I came here today because you told me you wanted me in your  _ sports _ team, not to join some supremacist bullshit sect. I have done enough in my life already to cause pain to the few people I love, and all I want now is to be left alone. Yes, I ended up in juvie and am still on probation, no, it wasn’t my fault, and the humans that accused me feared me because of what I could do, of what I had already done. But I’m not here to take revenge of any kind. I won’t join you in your fucking plans of destroying the better part of the population. I don’t care. I’ve seen enough.”

He turns his back to them and starts walking back to the entry of the field, ignoring the shouts rising from the affronted assembly.

Charles was right, it would seem.

 

*

 

Erik joins Raven inside the cafeteria without feeling like he has been followed by any of the people that were at the Hellfire’s meeting. Just to be sure, he has kept track of all of their metal accessories for the whole walk, and it’s with sweat on his brow that he seats opposite her.

She rises a surprised gaze when she hears him pulling the chair.

“I thought you had a meeting.” She doesn’t really ask, but he can see the question in her eyes.

“I had. Left early.” He grabs his sandwich and starts peeling away the plastic wrap.

“That bad, huh? What was it, anyway? You haven’t even told me. They wanted you to join the ballet class or what?”

Erik suppresses a laugh that isn’t really in order, seeing what he has to tell her.

“Hellfire.”

Raven stops chewing, and he has the occasion to see the inside of her mouth—not really something he wanted to. She hastily puts her food down.

“Don’t tell me you went there!”

When he says nothing more, she continues, disbelieving. “Oh my  _ god _ , Erik! What the hell?”

“What?” he bites out. “He told me it was about a sports team.”

“And you believed him?”

Erik sits back in his chair, pensive. “No. But Charles told me not to go, so I wanted to.”

“Are you serious? My dear  _ brother _ tried to stop you, and you went just out of  _ spite _ ?” she bursts out, laughing so hard that her fists slam on her tray. “Erik, for fuck’s sake, what were you thinking? Shaw’s a mad man! He tried to approach me after Charles said no to him. And believe me, he was disappointed.”

Erik perks up. “What do you mean?”

“I may want to be a proud mutant and to stop hiding who I truly am, but that doesn’t mean I want the world to be destroyed! Have you  _ seen _ his manic gaze? Thank you, but no, thank you!”

She picks her sandwich back up and nibbles at it, as if she’s wary of what he could say next and doesn’t want to choke on a mouthful.

“I saw your friend, too. The blond, icy girl. She was there.”

“Emma?” she says while chewing. “Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t say she’s my  _ friend _ , but she’s the chief cheerleader, and we get on well, because we don’t discuss politics. Or any important topic, for that matter.”

Erik hums, not particularly convinced.

“I swear, Erik - people can be nice even if you don’t agree with them on every subject. That’s what diversity stands for.”

He actually throws a bread crumb at her for that statement.

 

*

 

Shaw leaves him alone after that, and that’s a blessing. The weekend, at least, has allowed Erik to put some barriers between him and the recent events. It happens that he crosses path with one or another of the members in the halls, but they usually just glare daggers at him as they pursue their path. It isn’t really a change from all the other students that just do that daily since the second bout of rumours.

He’s gonna get used to it. He doesn’t need any of them, and as long as they don’t bother him about any of those stories, he’ll continue to ignore them just as well.

Charles looks directly at him when he enters the classroom on Monday morning. Erik holds his gaze, defying the  _ I-told-you-so _ look that clouds clear-blue eyes with one of his own, daring Charles to say anything about it.

Charles doesn’t look as manic as he was the other day, but there’s still dark circles carved under his eyes. Erik watches him hold the strap of his bag with one hand and clutch his cardigan with the other, as if hiding a non-existent cleavage from his prying gaze, as if Erik scared him. Maybe he does. Maybe that’s what he wants. 

To ruffle Charles’ good looks and always perfect clothes, to shake his superior behaviour and the smile that seems to be glued to his face anytime he’s not looking at Erik, to make him fall from his fucking pedestal, hard. Erik scowls, and Charles hurriedly turns around and sits at his desk. Erik’s almost tempted to mess with Charles’ chair, but the consequences of such a display in class wouldn’t be worth the effort, right now.

 

*

 

He’s setting himself for lunch in a sunlit corner in front of the school on Thursday, seizing the remnant of the summer’s heat to spend some time outside of those four walls that seem to come closer and closer around him each passing minute, when he receives a call from Raven.

It’s weird, because she’s at her cheerleading training, like every Thursday at noon, and she had no need to call him to know where to join him.

He’s tempted not to answer. She surely hasn’t locked her screen correctly, and the movements in her pocket made her phone call her last contact.

But it has never happened with her, and he knows she unlocks the screen with her fingerprint. He slides his thumb over the phone to accept the call and brings it to his ear.

“Raven?”

He first hears some ruffling, and looks at the screen to make sure that the connection has been made correctly, but it seems to be fine.

“Raven?” he says again after bringing the phone back against his skull.

He hears voices; Raven’s, but she’s not talking to him. And, farther, Shaw’s. What is he doing at a cheerleading practice? There’s also another female one that Erik thinks belongs to Emma Frost. He hasn’t heard her speak much, but the clipped tone is easily recognizable. “ _ Shouldn’t have been there so soon, sweetie. Shouldn’t have seen that. That’s too bad, because I needed you in the team. But you won’t ever shut up if I don’t make you learn the lesson now. Azazel! _ ” There’s a loud noise, like an explosion, and Erik can now hear the Russian asking what he needs to do. “ _ Take care of her, _ ” Emma’s voice filters through Erik’s phone again. “ _ She needs to stay silent. _ ” He doesn’t hear much after that, and then—-

Then Raven screams.

Erik drops his phone, leaves everything behind as he barrels inside the hall.

Crossing to the gym takes no time as he rushes through the corridors and follows the pitches, but it also takes too long. Too fucking long.

Something’s happening to Raven, something  _ bad _ , and he  _ needs _ to do something. He’s not fast enough—he wills his legs to take wider strides, puts all his weight on his toes—

He barely slows down when he reaches the first entry, opening the metal door without any thought to it, and enters the gym, but it’s empty, completely empty-he reaches with his powers, tries to feel a watch or a necklace or  _ anything _ that would tell him that there’s someone here, that he wasn’t mistaken.

And there—-to his left, in the storeroom, he feels them. He propels his body in that direction, opens the door with a neglected movement of his right hand, and enters the room as it crashes against the wall.

Here they are—-Shaw and Emma leaning leisurely against the back wall, chatting as if they were somewhere entirely, like a terrace or something—-and between them and Erik, stand Azazel and Raven, that has switched back to her natural blue form. His brain barely registers that the blue and the red of their skin joined where Azazel is currently tightening his hand around her frail neck clash beautifully. She’s standing on the tip of her toes, both hands trying to get Azazel to let her go, scratching with her nails and pushing against his extended arm and landing a fist against the inside of his elbow, with no success. But they all turn their head in his direction, and he sees Emma distinctly rolling her eyes.

“You kept me too occupied, Sebastian, I didn’t even notice he was coming.”

“Well, that’s how I like you, darling. Occupied.” Shaw smirks to her, as if they were  _ friends _ or worse,  _ lovers _ . “But I’m sure you can do  _ something _ about him.”

“Yes, sweetie.”

Erik barely has the time to latch on the door, wrenching it from its hinges and hurling it in their direction before he feels a freezing spear splitting his brain.

He’s blind for a moment, and the next he’s on the floor, clutching at his head with both his hands, and he notices that he’s screaming just as the pain recedes.

He pants as he rises to his knees and elbows, but soon loses any air he would have contained in his lungs when Azazel hits him in the ribs, sending him back to the ground.

There’s a flash of blue in front of his eyes and a loud crack before the explosion sound that he heard on the phone earlier resonates, and there’s a sulfuric smell that makes him gag.

It takes him a few seconds to concentrate on Raven’s hands on his shoulders before he can rise to his feet again. Azazel is now standing near the two others, his hand on his nose, and Shaw is casually holding the door Erik had thrown at them with all the strength he could muster, as if it weighed nothing.

“I have another way of doing that, Sebastian.” Emma says as Erik tries to gain his breathing back--because even if Raven is free now, they tried to attack her, and—-

“Bring me to the front of the director’s office, Azazel.”

And just like that, all three of them are gone.

 

*

 

“Shit.” Raven says as they run back to the school’s entrance so that Erik can grab his bag and his phone-—still there, but the glass screen is smashed-—before climbing the stairs that Erik took on his first day here to enter the principal’s office. The door is closed, but they can hear voices inside. Emma’s, mostly.

Erik opens the door without even knocking and they barge in to witness Emma seated across the desk from Johnson, who’s intently listening to her story. Her voice wavers and she sniffles and when she turns her head to look at them, her face is smeared with tears and black lines of makeup and her bottom lip is trembling.

“It’s him, Mister Johnson!” she says accusingly as she points a finger to Erik. “I saw him, he tried to force Raven to do some horrible, horrible things… Adult things…” She breaks in another bout of sobs.

“That’s  _ bullshit _ !” Raven intervenes, taking another step inside the room. “Don’t listen to her, that’s not what happened!”

“Miss Darkholme, that’s not a language I will tolerate in my office!” the Principal snaps, stopping her at once. “I’ll listen to you afterwards. Miss Frost came here first, with severe accusations. Mister Lehnsherr, I’ll ask you to wait outside, you’re disturbing the poor girl.”

“No, no, you can’t—” Erik starts.

“Of course I can, who do you think I am? Out. Now.”

Erik shares a glance with Raven as his heart stammers. He can’t, he can’t—-he’s panicking, right now, but Raven brings her hand on his arm and squeezes lightly. “Go. I’ll tell him my version of the story, it will be fine. Go.”

With a last murdering look at Emma, he turns and passes the threshold. He leaves the door open and stands against the wood panel, to be sure to stay inside earshot.

“Please, do continue, Miss Frost,” Johnson says.

“I… I was going to the storeroom to get the stuff for cheerleading practice, and, and…” Another loud sniff, followed by a disrupted intake of breath. “And he was here, on top of her on one of the gym mattresses and he was tugging at her clothes and she was struggling but he used his  _ powers _ to immobilize her… And I screamed, screamed at him to let her go, that he was a monster, that poor Raven didn’t want to do anything like that and he  _ threw a door at me _ ! I swear, Mister Johnson, I’ve never been so scared in my life, he looked like a  _ beast _ !”

“That’s all lies!” Raven shouts, but Erik is mortified. What if the Principal believes her? What if he doesn’t let him or Raven speak, what if-—?

“Miss Darkholme!” Johnson roars. “I’m not going to ask you a  _ third time _ to remain  _ silent _ ! You’ll have some explaining to do when I say it’s your turn. Stop interrupting!”

It all falls silent for a while, before the Principal speaks again.

“Do you have anything more to say, Miss Frost?” and his voice is all sweet.

“No, Mister Johnson, but please, please, do something, I’m so scared of  _ him _ ! I can’t… I can’t  _ look _ at him, what if he tries to do the same to me-—”

“Don’t worry, Miss Frost. I’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure you, and the other students, are safe.” His tone of voice audibly changes when he speaks again. “You can speak now, Miss Darkholme. Make it quick, I have work to do, and this whole mess is going to be a lot of extra work. Is it what happened?”

“No, absolutely not!” Raven answers.

“So what was it, if I may ask?”

“I came in early for practice and I heard noises in the storeroom. I found Emma here and Mister Shaw together, and she was giving him head-—”

Johnson scoffs. “You’re saying, now, that one of our renowned teacher is involved with a  _ student _ ?  _ Please _ .”

“Yes, I am.” Raven’s voice is tighter now, coiled. “And when Emma spotted me, she asked Azazel to hit me so I wouldn’t speak.”

“I’m not sure to follow you… You’re saying that there was another student in the storeroom with Mister Shaw and Miss Frost?”

“No-—not at first. She called him.”

“And all the while she supposedly called him, you  _ didn’t _ run away?”

“He’s a teleporter,” she deadpans.

“Right. And when did Mister Lehnsherr come?”

“A few minutes later.”

“And did he throw that door at Miss Frost?”

“Yes but-—”

“But that seems like deterioration added to aggravated intent to harm someone to me. I can assure you, Miss Darkholme, that you don’t need to defend your assailant. You don’t have to fear anything, you are  _ safe _ here. I will protect you.”

“Am I under questioning or something? Why are you so prone to think  _ she _ is saying the truth? I—-”

“That’s enough, Miss Darkholme!” Erik hears a chair scraping the floor, followed by a loud “Mister Lehnsherr! Come here right now!”

 

*

 

When Erik enters the office once again, Emma is not crying anymore. Actually, she’s wearing a satisfied smirk that Erik would gladly rip with his nails, as she stands, arms crossed under her breasts.

Johnson is up too, while Raven is still seated, her head down.

“I will now speak alone to Mister Lehnsherr, if you don’t mind, Ladies.”

Frost deliberately brushes past him, resplendent in her all-white outfit, all the more obnoxious to Erik. She leaves a trail of freezing goose bumps on his bare arms that lessens only when he hears her heels on the stairs.

Raven takes more time to exit, looking directly at Erik, her yellow eyes shining with unshed tears of disgust. At least, she manages to keep her body disguise as usual—-

“I need to talk to you,” she says when she comes near him, as she seizes his wrist.

But Johnson clears his throat, making her jump, and the next second she’s gone.

 

*

 

“Please, have a seat,” Johnson commands, showing the now empty seats in front of him with a hand. “Well, Mister Lehnsherr. I don’t really know what to do.” He joins his hands together, his elbows resting on the leather blotter. “I’m just  _ so _ disappointed in you. I allowed you to come in this school after what happened in you previous one, choosing to trust you. And what do you do? You relapse, barely three months after the year starts. I think there is something seriously wrong with you, doing that kind of thing to girls.”

“I have  _ never _ touched someone that didn’t want me to.” Erik can’t stop from interrupting. But Johnson doesn’t take the bait.

“Let me doubt that. You’ve showed me that I can’t trust you, right now. Don’t think I heard of when you let your anger loose, or when you attacked that boy after the Thanksgiving recess? There will be an investigation about what happened today, and we will determine if your friend is telling the truth or not.”

“You don’t even seem to take her word for what it is. You have made your mind up, haven’t you? I’m the juvie, the criminal, so I  _ must _ be wrong, that’s it?”

Erik is gripping his armrests so hard his fingers have blanched, and the muscles in his forearms are quivering. It’s happening once again, baselines not believing him when he truly hasn’t done anything, and that  _ fucking _ Emma Frost setting him up like that—-

“Are you even aware, Mister Johnson, of what the Hellfire club does during their practice time? Have you seen their tracts? Of what Shaw is up to?”

But the principal dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

“I will ask you to respect the professors working here. It is  _ Mister _ Shaw. And yes, I know. They  _ practice _ .”

If Erik didn’t already think he was totally screwed, he would have now. The man doesn’t make  _ sense _ , and it’s so  _ frustrating _ .

Erik has known enough injustice in his—-rather short—-life. He came here to start again, to finish school. To avoid troubles.

And yet here he is.

In this clusterfuck.

That might just mean that he shouldn’t have bothered with the effort. He’s a broken product that won’t bring anything decent to the world.

“You will understand that I have to call your probation worker. You will be suspended from school as long as the investigation lasts. You are to stay here until he comes to pick you up, and I don’t want to see any damage to my office, or it will only aggravate your case, do you hear me?”

Erik doesn’t bother answering.

Johnson leaves him alone to place that call, closing the door and all of Erik’s hopes behind him.

 

.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending this chapter from Paris with love <3

.

 

When Logan finally arrives, Erik is seated on the floor in a corner of the room. He doesn’t know how long it’s taken the man to come here, as he has spent his time with his head between his knees and his arms around them, in the dark.

He hears the man speak, recognizes the metal covering his bones and the rumbling voice, but doesn’t acknowledge him. He doesn’t have the strength.

He doesn’t move when he hears the loud steps of Logan’s boots on the floor, nor when Logan sits on his haunches in front of him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Logan starts.

Erik doesn’t move.

“Come on, let’s get outta here,” Logan insists. His paw of a hand lands on Erik’s bicep and he starts to lift his arm.

Erik doesn’t follow the movement, at first, but obediently puts his feet under him when he’s close to losing balance. His eyes stay locked on the floor, though. He’s tired. So tired.

When he next registers what’s going on around him, Logan is bent over him, going for the seatbelt as Erik is seated next to him in Logan’s car. He doesn’t remember climbing down the stairs nor crossing the hall.

His bag is on the floor between his feet, his hands resting uselessly on his thighs.

As soon as Logan has clipped Erik’s seatbelt into place, he straightens.

“You could have said that you wanted to see me so badly, we could have changed the schedule, no need to bother everyone with that, you know.” Logan snorts to his own joke, and after a few more seconds of silence, continues, “Alright. Let’s get going.”

He starts the engine and rapidly gets off the curb and onto the deserted road.

Soon after, Erik smells the acrid smoke of Logan’s cigar, but doesn’t make any move to open the window.

He closes his eyes.

He drops onto his usual chair as Logan rounds his desk to sit behind it. He’s starting to feel a little less numb, as if the cotton stuffing his skull is slowly receding, leaving enough space for thoughts to come back to the front of his mind. And he doesn’t really need them, actually, as he starts to hurt inside his chest once again, feeling so useless and just shy of a lost cause.

Slowly, as if his body was on autopilot, Erik grabs his bag and retrieves what he needs to roll a cigarette. His fingers shake a little, letting the tobacco fall back into its pouch, but he finally manages to light it.

Logan gets his usual folder out before lightning another cigar.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to drop my quota so soon, you know. It’s gonna stain my otherwise clean probation worker stats. Shame.”

Erik chokes on the acrid smoke he was inhaling at that, but Logan just sucks a few more time on his cigar in silence, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Why are you doing this job? I guess smoking cigars all day long in front of teenagers without even a proper vent is not really part of it, right?” Erik pulls on the filter, his blood pumping hard, the fog dissipating totally in his head. Something has broken inside of him, and the dam won’t hold much longer. “Because, you know, you’re supposed to actually  _ help _ kids like me, not just dismiss them. We’re not just  _ stats _ . We’re human beings, not fucking  _ trash cans _ .”

“Why am I doing this job?” Logan asks, not even having the decency to look ashamed or surprised. “Listen, Erik.” He lands his cigar on the ashtray and sits back on his chair, back straight and hands joined over the desk. “I know you’re not a trash can. I know you’re not just stats. I know you’re human. And I know you’re not the least stupid. I also know, from my years of experience, that there’s nothing useful to gain when trying to lecture a teen. Being treated like a kid never helps any-fucking-body. You want to do what you want and to be left alone; I’m letting you do whatever the fuck you want and I leave you alone. But if one day, you need help, I will help you. If one day, you need someone to talk to, I will listen. No matter what. I just have too many things to do to bother trying if you’re not needing any of this.”

_ Fuck _ . Erik wasn’t prepared for that. But that’s true, he realises, he would never have listened to Logan if the counsellor had tried to make him talk. He would have never guessed that brute of a man was so good and so quick at pinning him down. Because as soon as they had met, Logan had worked like this, feigning disinterest until Erik noticed it. And it took him so fucking long. He hates to admit that this crazy animal was right all along. But he admits it.

He lights his cigarette once again, mulling over Logan’s heartfelt speech. It takes him a few drags on the filter to gain his voice back. He’s still treading in unknown waters, but he thinks he might see the bottom of it.

He thinks of all that happened to him since his folder was transferred to Logan.

He sure doesn’t forget the good—-his mother, his job, the Davids’ kindness and acceptance, even Raven—-but there’s so much bad, too. Things, people, that are trying to crush him.

“I think I need help, now,” he says, his voice barely audible even to his own ears.

Admitting it takes a toll on him. Since his father’s death, he has done anything to avoid relying on someone. But he’s not as strong as he thinks he is. No, he realises just after that thought. It has nothing to do with strength. Strength is admitting when he needs help, and seeking it.

Strength is what he’s doing, right now.

Logan stands up, lands one of his huge hands on Erik’s shoulder, just above where he had seized him earlier to get him out of that damnable office.

“If you want help from me, you’re gonna have to give me a little bit more than the three aseptic lines I have about you in that rotten folder.”

Erik doesn’t try to fend the hand off of him, because, to his surprise, he doesn’t feel like it’s here to pity him, that  _ Logan _ is here to pity him.

Logan removes his hand by himself, crosses the cramped room to get to the window and opens it. The fresh air is almost a relief to Erik, lifting a bit of the massive weight he carries on his shoulders at the same time as some of the smoke.

He takes the time to finish his own cigarette and downs the water in the plastic goblet that Logan puts in front of him. He’s got to do this. He needs to. He needs to start, to get it out of his system. So, when he doesn’t find anything else to do to earn some time, he just dives right in.

“I lost my father when I was barely a teen. Car accident. In which my powers decided to manifest brutally. It’s what saved me from being crushed by the truck that hit us. It didn’t prevent my father from encountering that fate. And I’ve been blaming myself for that since then. My mother tried her best, but anytime she thought I was asleep or I wasn’t looking, she was wearing that powerless expression, so open I could see how deep the hole I had created in her heart was. I didn’t know what to do with that freshly acquired power and bitterness. Leave that kind of resentment be and it soon festers. I had so much rage that I couldn’t even understand the depth of it. I started to get involved with people I shouldn’t have. Messing up in the streets. Joined a group of teens as damaged as I was. And I thought that it was the solution, letting my anger rise and explode with fuck-ups, getting into fights, messing with the cops, doing drugs, getting tattoos… But all those guys,  _ boys _ , really, none of them was a friend. Anyone could betray the others at any time. We were like a pack of stray dogs, hunting together but always watching our own backs.

None of them was going to school. Baseline, mutant, it didn’t matter, as long as we could hold a fight and  _ hurt _ someone. I started going less and less to class myself. I felt like I wasn’t welcome there, anyway. I scared them, always biting at the lowest bait.

But there was this girl, in my school. She was a friend. She  _ had been _ a friend, a long time ago. Jewish. Her parents knew mine, and we grew up together. But we got estranged when… growing up. As I started hanging with the other boys.

Magda, she’s named.

And one day, she got into troubles with a bunch of assholes at school, because they thought that her clothes were an invitation to grope.”

Erik sneers at the recollection, completely disgusted by those filthy pigs, even now, even in his situation.

“Even if we didn’t talk to each other anymore, I didn’t want her to be harmed in any way. So I interrupted them and we got into a fight. No need to say that they didn’t have my...  _ experience _ and that I crushed them all so easily.

But the concussion drew people to the corner we were in, and several students saw me hovering over four bleeding boys. Me, the secluded, gang-kid that scared everyone just by passing by. The headmaster and the parents refused to hear anything from me, and Magda stayed completely silent. I was accused of having tried to rape her, of having fought the four guys who had tried to save her.

So I was the one sent to juvie, ending up with a record I had managed to dodge for so long while doing really nasty things, getting expelled from the school, still on probation for something I did that was fair, for once.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, as if he knew the story wasn’t over. Of course, it’s not over. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have needed to come pick him up in the principal’s office.

“And I’ve been trying to be good since I’ve come here, I swear. I haven’t missed any class, any assignment. I have a job after school and on Saturdays, and I stay away from trouble. Or that’s what I thought I was doing. Someone found out about my father and showed the article that was written in a local journal in Pittsburgh to the whole school by printing it and displaying it over my locker. I… I got a bit carried away and was stopped by my gym teacher, Shaw.”

Logan frowns at that name, eyebrows almost touching each other.

“Later, that teacher asked me to come to his team meeting, but I left after discovering it was a disguise for a mutant supremacist group. As much as I hate the whole world, especially baselines for fearing me since I got that power, I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here talking with you.

Just before that, the whole school learned about what I supposedly did to that girl, fearing me even more if it is even possible.

And today—-today, my  _ only _ friend at school saw that man having sex with a student and she called me, but by the time I joined her, she was being hit by another guy from that group, and they left us there to go tell lies to the principal. Lies that are way too close to those which were told last year.  _ I  _ was trying to rape Raven, just as  _ I  _ had done previously. And Johnson believed her, that  _ bitch _ , I don’t even know why, but he didn’t even try to listen to Raven, telling her that she  _ didn’t have to lie to protect her assailant _ , me, and—-”

He needs to breathe, because he’s a hair away from losing it again. But his throat constricts, and it’s hard to get any air in, he’s so helpless—-

“Alright, listen to me, Erik,” Logan begins, talking for the first time in a while.

And so Erik does.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know... Don't hate me too much, we still have a lot to go through.  
> Hope you enjoyed some more Logan <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments!  
> I was away the last three Sundays so I couldn't really take a break and answer, but I'll try to do that now :)  
> You are all so very awesome, thank you so much <3
> 
> **OK SO: that's one of my favourite chapters, but you must tread carefully. Some of the tags are here for a reason and it starts now.**  
>  I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

.

 

Erik has twenty-three missed calls, eight voicemails and thirteen texts from Raven by the time he gets home on Friday afternoon. He’d already had some when Logan dropped him off at his apartment after their lengthy meeting the previous day, but he can’t find the strength in him to answer Raven. He goes straight to bed instead, and crashes until four in the morning. After that, unable to fall back to sleep, he does an extensive workout before joining his mother for her breakfast.

Telling her the whole story isn’t easy. Explaining to her why he had failed once again feels as if he just went back in time to the first Judgement, the one that sent him to juvie, when his mother was crying while telling him that everything would be okay. But it never had been okay.

After Edie leaves for work, he calls the Davids and agrees with Liora that he can work all day instead of the evening, in order to occupy himself and not risk going mad inside his small bedroom.

He still hasn’t the strength to call Raven back, though. Because she will apologize profusely, and he doesn’t need to hear that. He doesn’t need to feel her pity and her sadness when he still has to deal with his own. He’s not sure he can handle it.

But when he sees Logan’s ID on the screen as he rests with a book on his bed early evening, he accepts the call without a thought.

Something happened the day before, something broke down inside him and between them, and he oddly trusts the mad man now. If he calls him, he surely has a good reason.

“Hey, kid” Logan starts as soon as Erik has picked up.

“Stop calling me _kid_ if you want to keep your adamantium skeleton intact.” Erik immediately growls in answer.

“Whatever,” Logan scuffs. “Listen. I have news for you. Are you seated?”

“No, got up to grab my phone when you called, what the fuck do you want?”

“You might want to sit down.”

“Spit it out, Howlett.” Erik grinds. He may trust the man, but _god_ he is still so annoying.

“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He pauses, exasperating Erik just a little more. “Your Shaw has been arrested today.”

Erik won’t admit that he fell back on his bed as his knees gave out. “What?” his voice seems strained, even to him.

“Yeah. Seems that some student got involved with the whole story after we left yesterday, proved that the girl who accused you is a telepath that has mingled with your principal’s head.”

“Which student?” Erik asks, his heart hammering. What did Raven do?

“Don’t remember. Name’s Xavier, I think.” Logan shrugs. “Shaw is with the police, right now. Accused of statutory rape and incitement to hatred, no less.”

_Charles_.

It’s Charles. He’s the one— but _how_?

“Those’re some really serious accusations.” Logan continues. “But when you told me his name yesterday, it rang a bell. I’ve done some research after our meeting, and I found some interesting shit. I might go make a little impromptu visit to the jail. Anyway. The girl is suspended, and _you_ are not anymore. I want your ass back to school on Monday, alright?”

“Sure.”

Erik ends the call, and his phone lands on the sheets next to him as his hand drops it. He doesn’t understand… _Why_ would Charles do that? _Why_ would he help him? They have nothing in common, they spend their time glaring at each other when they don’t just insult the other, and since that time when Charles tried to dissuade him from going to the Hellfire meeting, they haven’t even shared a word. So…?

But Charles was the one who… Who put that journal entry on his locker, the one who started all this mess. What the actual fuck.

He can’t— he has to know why.

He has to know _now_.

Grabbing his phone and his jacket, Erik all but runs for the door.

 

* 

 

Bewilderment leaves the door open to anger as Erik draws nearer and nearer to the school. The anger, in turn, lets the rage take its place, and when he crosses the field to enter the gym, still running, then just next to that, the theatre, he’s positively seething. Classes are over for the week and he knows that Charles would have gone to his theatre rehearsal, the one Erik had had to endure a few weeks ago. It’s probably over already, and the boy might be gone by now, but he has to try.

He has to see him. He has to confront him and hurt him the way Charles has hurt Erik and most importantly, he needs to understand.

The main door bangs against the wall when he enters. It wasn’t locked, so he guesses there’s still people inside. He sweeps his mind on every metallic object stored in the vicinity as he tries to get his breath back on track, going simultaneously over multiple hangers, blunt swords and knives used on stage, crowns and other whatnots. But further in, there’s metal moving in steps. He feels a ring, heated by its owner’s skin, the button and zip from trousers, a small plaque and screws lower on one leg, like—like an implant in the person’s shin.

That’s the only things he feels moving, and Charles was the last one leaving, last time. He barges into the backstage area, ready to jump on Charles if it’s really him.

And it is. It’s him, turning his back to Erik as he fusses over his schoolbag, from what Erik can see.

Charles turns when he hears him, surprise written on his weary face.

“Erik, what —”

But Erik doesn’t leave him enough time to finish his sentence. He grabs Charles by the collar and makes him step back to the huge dressing table covering an entire wall, Charles’ lower back hitting the hard wood. But Erik continues to push, forcing him to bend backwards, until the crown of Charles’ head knocks against the huge mirror.

Charles feebly tries to push him back, to make him release his shirt, to regain a bit of balance. His hands fuss on the countertop, shoving plastic bottles and wooden boxes on their path, making some of them fall on the floor.

He struggles for a few seconds before stopping, shoulders sagging and whole body abandoning the fight.

Charles has surrendered.

His breathing, though, is shallow and erratic. Erik is standing so close to him that he feels every breath on his face, feels Charles’ heart hammering against his own chest. He’s towering over Charles, and the boy is looking at him with incomprehension weaved with fear in his bloodshot eyes.

“Erik, I —” Charles starts, voice hesitant.

“Shut the fuck up, _Xavier_ .” Erik all but spits to his face. He shoves him once again for good measure. “I don’t know what your game is but I sure as hell know you will stop it _right now_.”

“My game?” Xavier has the guts to stutter.

“Don’t you dare play fools with me, I’m not sure I can be patient enough!” he grits.

His whole body is quivering with tension, ready to snap. And he will, he will, he swears to any fucking god—

“Wait, wait, Erik!” Charles’ hands grab his own, his blue _blue_ eyes wide open, pupils moving slightly as they bore a hole through Erik’s skull. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, alright? Please, let me go, and we can discuss it.”

“The _hell_ we discuss it! What the fuck were you thinking? First, you put that article on display for _everyone_ to see, but then, later, you decide to help _me_? You’ve got a serious problem! What is it, trying to buy Raven’s good will? Want to make amends? Isn’t it a bit too late?”

“I… Erik, _please_!”

Erik removes his hands from Charles’ collar and takes a step back, as if he had been burnt at the point of contact.

“I don’t know which article you’re talking about and— _oh_!” Charles stands straight again and moves forward, reducing the distance between them to almost nothing once again. “I _can’t_ believe it! _How_ _could you_ think I would do such a thing? All this time!” Charles is shouting, his face reddening with each passing second.

Erik wonders why all he notices is the brightness in Charles’ eyes and the vein that stands out of his forehead. Fuck, that asshole is way too hot when he’s furious like this. Lust pools in his abdomen, mixing with his flaming anger.

 “You thought _I_ was the one who told everyone about your accident? I know you have decided that I am a jerk, all by yourself, but _please_ , give me some credit!”

“It was on your _locker_!”

“And it never occurred to you that _anyone_ could put a fucking sheet of paper with tape on it? Screw you, Erik!”

Oh how he would love that, getting rid of all that pent-up tension in his body and his mind. He would love Charles to help him with that, but there’s a difference between a fantasy and reality.

“And _would you mind to stop thinking only about my ass or my eyes or my fucking mouth_ ?” Charles seethes. “I’m a whole person, just in case you hadn’t noticed, not a fucking _sextoy_!”

Wait. _What_?

“How do you know about that?” Erik starts, anger washed away by an imagined bucket of ice-cold water. His cognitive functions seem to stutter before coming back full force.

Charles, though, freezes. Looks like he’s regretting what he’s just said. Too bad, because Erik _wants to know_.

“How do you know about that?” Erik repeats slowly, hammering each word.

“Forget that.” Charles says, his cheeks flushed this time from embarrassment. He steps back and turns, going for his bag.

But Erik doesn’t let him. He won’t let him. He’s never talked to anyone about his attraction for Charles’ body. Swiftly, he grabs Charles’ left wrist as he retreats and pulls as hard as he can. The boy loses his balance because of it, and with another wide move of his arm, Erik makes him turn to face him once again. The momentum brings Charles right into his embrace, chest against his own, and Erik lands his free hand against Charles’ back, his arm snaking around his thin waist so easily.

“I will not. Now _tell me_!” Erik growls, closer to Charles’ own mouth than ever. The cerulean of his eyes flickers with uncertainty before settling back to the stormy ocean blue they are since Erik arrived.

"T'was easy— you can't take your eyes off of it. And speaking of ass, I just saved yours, so kindly fuck off if you're not intending to thank me."

Erik lets a bitter laugh escape his lips. “Right. I’m not stupid enough to think you did that for me. You just go all nosy about your sister’s life, as always. You can’t bear the idea that she _could_ have slept with me. But you know what, you don’t get to be thanked. _Fuck you_ , Charles!” he snarls between closed teeth, his jaw closed so tight his muscles start complaining.

“Oh, you _wish_ ,” Charles jeers.

“ _I_ wish? And you try to tell me _not_ to think about your ass? You’re downright asking for it right now.”

Charles’ look is so defiant, so outraged, his eyes hard, not at all unsettled by their proximity, even if they’re breathing each other’s air right now.

“Oh yeah? Why would I want _you_ to think about my ass? If I had such a spectacular one, I might want to choose someone else, someone worth it, not a self-righteous prick like you!”

“Maybe you _want_ my self-righteous prick.”

It’s surprise that Erik senses in the splendid arch of Charles’ eyebrows at his downright nasty retort. God the boy is expressive.

“You did _not_ say that,” Charles warns after a brief silence. When he sees that Erik won’t answer, lips sealed in a scowl, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck it.”

He manages to startle Erik out of his scrutiny by landing his free hand on Erik’s belt, working it open.

“You mean, ‘ _fuck me_ ’.”

“Why are you still talking, Lehnsherr?”

His zip comes undone before he reacts, but when he does, he takes Charles by surprise by smashing his lips against Charles’. No tenderness, no love, just the hate and the pent-up tension between them blowing, just teeth and tongue and possession. His hand still on Charles’ back pushes his taut body against his own, crashing Charles’ hand between their abdomens until he fumbles to remove it, and his rapidly filling cock juts out of the open trousers and against Charles’ own. Feeling Charles’ arousal makes him rear back, breaking the contact between their mouths. Charles seems almost surprised but Erik dives immediately to bite at the crook of his neck, eliciting a growl. Erik’s hands fly to Charles’ ass, avid to finally touch and grope and knead, as he opens Charles’ own trousers with only a thought.

He guides Charles back to the dressing table as he laps at the indentations he’s left on Charles’ skin, and Charles’ fingers are in his hair, tugging and scraping at his scalp, but as soon as Erik straightens up, he flips Charles’ body without any kindness so that his stomach lands on the wood, and he can hear Charles losing his breath. Erik immediately comes right behind him and pushes Charles’ trousers and pants down, letting them pool at his feet. He nudges his knees apart to gain some access between Charles’ legs before plastering his whole torso against Charles’ back.

He grabs Charles’ lobe between his teeth before whispering right in his ear, “I hope you’ve got something we can use, because I won’t stop now, and I would hate to hurt you.”

Charles whimpers before answering, “Far left drawer. There’s condoms and packets of lube. MacTaggert always leaves some in here because she wants us to always protect ourselves.”

Erik laughs. “Saint MacTaggert. Maybe I should thank her for what I’m going to do to you?”

He backs off and lands a punitive hand on Charles’ bare ass before going to retrieve what he needs, relinquishing in the noise that escapes Charles’ red mouth. The mirror helps him to see Charles’ face even from behind him, and he particularly likes the swollen, parted lips. Oh how he would love to fuck that mouth, one day. But he hasn’t got the patience right now, nor the real want to hurt Charles more than necessary, even if the boy _is_ driving him nuts.

He tears one of the packets of lube he brought back open and generously coats his fingers with it before inserting one in Charles. He tenses around it and under Erik’s body at the intrusion, but soon relaxes enough for Erik to move in and out. One leads to two which leads to three, and soon Erik is rolling the condom on his cock before lining up with Charles’ entrance.

He slides in in one movement until he’s rooted inside Charles, and he grunts at the feeling of Charles contracting around him. Charles pants, torso pressing on the dressing table, a hand plastered on the mirror while the other scraps against the wood.

Erik’s right hand fists around a handful of brown locks, pulling Charles’ hair until his neck is bent almost painfully, and the other clasps around Charles’ waist, still covered by his long-sleeved shirt. He starts moving, getting his cock fully out before slamming back in, setting a fast, brutal, unrelenting pace. And it’s blissful, really, to watch his cock disappear in Charles’ ass like this. It will probably never happen again, so he sure as hell commits that moment to memory for future wanks.

“Don’t hide, Charles.” He grits as he notices Charles’ tight-lipped reflection. “Let me hear you, as I for once want to.” He backs his demand with another hard thrust, bending his knees just slightly to change the angle of his attacks, earning an immediate whimper.

Charles is now looking at him through the reflection, and his open mouth lets out so many interesting noises, his tongue licking his lips on many occasions. Erik wants to crash his mouth against them once again, but he’s soon distracted by Charles’ hand, which slips from the hard wood to his groin, applying the same pace to his cock as Erik inside of him.

It’s too much, too fucking much, too fucking, soon, but Erik can’t resist any more against the months of want and frustration. It takes a toll as pleasure pools in his abdomen, sending fire to his synapses. He’s panting as much as Charles, and the mirror starts to be covered in condensation where Charles’ hot breath hits it, and Erik’s hips slam against Charles’ magnificent ass, too much, too much— 

Erik comes hard, his hips stuttering as hot spurts fill the condom.

Under him, Charles is quivering, and Erik releases his hair, breathless. Charles’ hand on the mirror lands hard against the wood, and he slams his head on it when he shouts, his other hand still at work on his cock.

Erik doesn’t wait for him before withdrawing.

Charles is still panting when Erik removes the condom and tights a knot before throwing it in the bin under the table.

He’s already closing his trousers when Charles finally straightens from his sprawl, movements slow and sluggish.

“We shouldn’t leave that here,” Charles says, motioning vaguely to the bin.

“I don’t come here, that’s not my problem.”

“Right. Should have thought so,” Charles spits.

Erik gets another eyeful when Charles bends to retrieve his pants and trousers, but Charles immediately turns to glare daggers at him.

“This has obviously been a mistake. I’ll ask you to never mention it again, to _anyone_ , and especially to me. Now get out of my sight.” Charles’ voice is once again cold and proper, and Erik turns to leave the place, but not before seeing Charles trying to suppress a wince as he sits on one of the stools.

“Always with pleasure, Xavier.” He dismisses him with a last smirk.

It’s only when he’s outside, passing by a slick black car, that he realises that, even if he feels more at peace than he’s been for a long time, his body releasing endorphin and oxytocin, he hasn’t learnt a thing about what happened with Charles for Shaw to be arrested and Frost suspended.

 

.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued attention guys and girls! Having so many comments is so... it feels so GOOD every time I have a mail! I love you all <3
> 
> And... sorry, I'm not sorry!

.

 

“Erik!” Raven screams when he arrives at school on Monday morning.

Before he knows it, he’s got an armful of shapeshifter clinging at him. He indulges her for a few seconds before disengaging from the hug.

“You  _ moron _ ! Why didn’t you answer the phone? I tried to call you at least a hundred times!”

“Twenty-three between Thursday and Friday, thirty-one during the weekend. That makes fifty-four missed calls. We are far from a hundred.” Erik replies with a grin. It’s a bit of a surprise for him, but he’s glad to see her here after all those previous events. He sobers up pretty fast, though.

“Yeah, maybe, don’t be a jerk! Why didn’t you answer? I wanted to let you know what happened! And I ended up worried sick because of you!”

“Well, I’m here  _ now. _ Explain.”

He rolls a cigarette, seated on the pavement in front of the school, as she starts talking.

“I told you I needed to talk to you when I left Johnson’s office, but you didn’t let me—”

“Do not assume I had a choice, would you?”

“Of course not, Erik, don’t be a dumbass… But when I was trying to talk to him, I noticed a strange white glint in his eyes. I was mad because he didn’t even try to believe me or to even  _ consider _ my version of the facts, but, knowing Emma is a telepath, I started to wonder if she hadn’t messed with him. Because, you know, he wasn’t fair at all.”

Her foot plays with a gum stuck to the ground, her eyes fixed on it, before she starts again.

“And when you left—gosh you scared me so much, you were as white as Emma’s clothes! Well, okay, maybe not the best comparison to do right now, but you got it, right? Anyway. I didn’t know what to do, I was so terrified that man with you would put you in prison or something, that I… ah, went to find Charles and…” Her voice is way more hesitant at the end of her sentence, and she’s looking at him, maybe to decipher how much that statement would set him up, but…

But Erik doesn’t say anything. Instead, he thinks. Of what he did last Friday. Of what  _ they _ did,Charles and him. Of the fact that he doesn’t want her to know that. Charles is a bastard who made her suffer, she doesn’t  _ need _ to know Erik had a bout of  _ really _ angry sex with him.

She must have taken his silence for an approval to continue, because she opens her mouth once again. “And he  _ did _ prove to Johnson that the whole story was  _ wrong _ .” Her head turns slightly, her gaze zeroing to someone approaching behind Erik’s back. She suddenly seems furious. “And that fucking prick here thought it would be great to come and talk to me again.”

Erik turns his head to see the boy that came to bash Erik to Raven in front of him not so long ago. With their combined glares, he visibly flinches and chooses to walk down the road instead of the sidewalk, putting a line of parked cars between them.

“You won’t believe it, Erik!” Raven scoffs. “He came to tell me ‘ _ I told you to stay away from that guy! _ ’” Her mimicry is complete with a change of face and a constipated voice that mostly sounds like this guy’s, “but you know what, I’m sure both his cheeks still remember what I answered.  _ Moron _ .”

Erik is on the verge on asking her to tell him more about what happened with Shaw when the first bell rings. He still hasn’t got to his locker, so he grabs his bag and stands up to enter the school, Raven in tow.

He freezes when he crosses the corridor to the locker room, though, because Charles is there, standing in front of his own. Raven looks skeptically at Erik, but he motions her to keep going, pretending to look for something in his bag. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he says to convince her.

“Right. See you later.”

Erik turns his gaze back to the lockers. Charles is still in front of them, turning his back to him, closing his bag. Erik is still furiously mad at him and they haven’t settled anything besides their seemingly mutual attraction, but he knows something has shifted between them, sobering him up since they’d screamed at each other and, well, yes—Since they got physical. 

He doesn’t really know what to think right now, because fucking Charles had helped him unwind some of his frustration, and even if he is still angry, he doesn’t want to damage Charles’ pretty face as much as he did previously.

But they had agreed not to think of what had happened between them anymore, so Erik shakes his head before focusing back on the matter at hand: getting to his locker before the second bell rings. Charles is leaving, so Erik hurries to grab his English text book before going to class.

He steps inside just as the bell rings and MacTaggert puts her bag on her desk. Charles is already here, still on the front row near the window, but he’s not gazing dreamily outside like the first time. He seems to be engrossed in his textbook, not at all aware of what happens around him.

Erik settles at his desk and opens his book as the teacher asks. The same person that teaches drama classes and  _ leaves condoms and lube for her students _ . Right. Erik  _ also _ tries to forget that fact.

He absently follows the lesson for another half hour, until MacTaggert asks a question he hasn’t quite registered and waits for an answer. As nobody volunteers, she slowly looks at every skittish student before asking Charles.

Charles seems surprised to be bothered for a second but quickly recovers. He straightens his shoulders and looks at her before answering.

Hearing Charles’ voice shouldn’t startle him. It shouldn’t make his heart-rate quicken, either. But here he is: remembering vividly the sounds Charles made while he was fucked against that mirror. And that look he’d had…

Erik jostles out of his reverie and tries to think about anything else, anything but that afternoon, anything but that ass, pliant before him, and those noises— 

_ Shit _ .

He’s out of the classroom as soon as the bell signals the end of the lesson.

Luckily, his next class doesn’t include Xavier. Only his puppy Hank, but Hank—  

Erik can easily manage him with a scowl. The boy squeals and shrinks inside his lab coat, and Erik concentrates back on his physics project, grinning owlishly.

*

Raven slumps on her chair next to him in the cafeteria.

“Bad morning?” Erik asks without looking at her, concentrated on his sandwich. They still have a lot of room around her, as the students seem to hesitate between Raven and him or Shaw and Frost, not believing that a teacher has been  _ arrested _ .

“Yeah, I got the results of my Social Studies test, and I really suck at it. The teacher wants me to take another test… If I could just ditch this major I would be so glad.”

“Just ditch it and take another one if it’s the only problem.” Erik shrugs.

“I can’t, I need to take it to have all the credits for college.” She drops her head in her hands, combing wildly at her blond locks to remove them from her eyes. “Screw that stupid test, screw that stupid teacher, let’s elope and raise ewes.”

“What would we do with a flock of sheep?” Erik deadpans.

“Cheese! Like the French!”

“Raven, sorry to tell you this, but I won’t elope with you to raise ewes.” And he means it. Those things stink and make way too much noise and they’re fucking stupid.

“You’re no fun, Erik.” She sticks her tongue out at him and finally grabs her lunch bag. “It wouldn’t matter if I disappeared, anyway.”

“It would matter,” Erik says seriously. “To Charles, obviously,” he continues, not so seriously anymore.

She bats at his arm. “Ugh! Go to hell, Lehnsherr! Besides, knowing what happened this weekend, he won’t miss me.” Her face turns sour.

Erik’s heartbeat picks up, suddenly apprehensive of what’s happened. Did Charles say anything about them? He doesn’t think so, Raven would have said it immediately upon seeing him. 

“What do you mean?” He straightens up, squaring his shoulders, closing his face.

She doesn’t notice.

She starts to explain while toying with her salad. “He came to see me when we were home, saying that we ought to talk, that we should go back to what we were before, friends, a  _ family _ .” She spits the last word. “The damn fool thought that because I asked him to intervene on Thursday, it meant that I was ready to talk to him again. He thought that I had forgiven him.” She lets a bitter laugh escape her lips. “You should have seen his face when I told him to go fuck himself! He looked just like a kicked puppy thrown out in the rain.”

Erik, despite everything, doesn’t really feel like laughing right now.

She takes a few bites and waves her fork while she chews. “I mean,  _ dude _ , how could one thing, never mind how big a help it was—sorry Erik— erase years of the life I had? He made me think I was a  _ monster _ , for fuck’s sake.” She sighs. “Forget him. He’s the biggest jerk in the universe, and that’s saying a lot, knowing Shaw.”

She stays silent for a while after that.

A while that Erik uses to wonder  _ why on earth _ Charles would have tried to talk to his sister this weekend, when he was the one to reject her and what she was so cruelly. Really. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about Charles. He’s not sure he’ll fully know the guy’s intentions, ever.

He stops chewing when he registers that once again, he’s thinking about Charles. 

_ Dammit _ .

*

“Erik.”

He turns to the voice, surprised to hear the British accent saying his name. Charles is coming near him as he opens his locker to grab his books for the afternoon classes, at the end of the lunch break.

Erik sighs. After what he talked about with Raven at lunch, he’s not particularly ready to talk to him now.

“You’ve got a minute?” Charles continues.

Erik observes him from the corner of his eyes as he focuses back on the heavy books he is handling. Charles doesn’t seem to want to meet his gaze, watching his own hands intently. He twists his fingers, plays with the cuffs of his button-down, seeming as pleased to be here as Erik. His nails, Erik notices, are bitten to the skin. Funny how he hasn’t noticed before.

“Make it quick. I have to get to my German class.” Erik sighs, ceasing to look at him and completing his task before closing his locker.

“Professor MacTaggert wanted to talk to you this morning but you left too quickly. She asked me to tell you that you’ll have to meet with the principal, the man that came to pick you up and her tomorrow at noon in the principal’s office. Something about what happened last week?”

Charles is blushing faintly now, still trying not to look at Erik’s face. Ashamed of what  _ they _ did after that debacle? That’s funny. Does Charles think about it, too? Is he still feeling the slight discomfort when he sits in class?

“Fine.” Erik shrugs, and leaves.

*

When Erik raps at the door the next day, he feels a bit tense. He knows he’s out of trouble, but his last meeting with the principal had been a bit… hectic, to say the least.

He hears three faint voices inside, so he just guesses Logan has arrived too, and when one of them asks him to enter, his suspicions are confirmed.

Logan and MacTaggert are both seated in front of Johnson’ desk, chatting together. They look up at him then and stop talking as Johnson shows Erik the last free chair.

As soon as he’s seated, Johnson starts.

“Listen, I know what I did last week wasn’t really… worthy of my profession, but I think Mister Howlett here has explained to you why exactly?”

Erik nods, back ramrod straight and arms crossed. Logan turns to him and lands a paw on his shoulder, for which he earns a killer look from Erik.

“Of course. I might have understood that Mister Shaw, who worked here, was also using the facility and the promiscuity with students to entertain a mutant supremacy group, is that correct, Mister Johnson?”

“Absolutely. I have personally seen to his arrest and I’m in touch with the police. I’m still mad that I let it happen right under my nose.”

“You couldn’t have known,” MacTaggert says. “He’s a really good speaker, and he had us all tricked. The problem now is to make sure the students he had enrolled  _ stop  _ any of that bullshit—”

“Miss MacTaggert!” Johnson interjects. “Where are your manners? In front of a  _ student  _ at that?”

“Sorry sir, but that’s true. Nothing says that they won’t continue without him.” she insists.

“As long as they do it outside of school, I can’t do anything.” Johnson replies, his tone clearly indicating that he won’t broach the subject again. “Anyway. Mister Lehnsherr, I must apologize to you in the name of the whole school, of course, but also in my own. I have been…  _ influenced _ by a student, and she won’t come back here. She’s suspended for now, and we will soon decide, with all the teachers, what to do next. But I doubt she’ll ever be one of our students again. I understand that you may have some hindrances, but you will have to go to the police station to sign your deposition.”

Before Erik can even shake his head no, Logan produces a folder that looks suspiciously like his own and gets a file out of it.

“Actually,” the gruff probation worker says, “I’m certified for that type of documents. You can sign it right here, right now, Erik. You won’t need to go there.” Logan hands him the paper and the cardboard folder, and Erik only has to summon his pen to sign it. He doesn’t remember making that deposition, so he just looks at Logan from under his lashes, head still tilted over the document. The damn beast just smirks at him.

“Well, now that it’s settled,” Logan says, making a quick work of the paper and the folder. He stays silent after that, waiting for Johnson to say something.

“Yes. One more thing, Mister Lehnsherr. I will need you to put the storage room’s door back into shape and into place, if you don’t mind? And, if you could, hm,  _ not _ throw doors at other people in the near future?”

“Alright.”

“Good, that’s settled, then. You’re all free to go, if there’s nothing else you want to talk about?”

“No, it’s good.” MacTaggert says as she rises.

Erik takes a deep breath as soon as the door closes behind them. He’s glad to be out of that office.

He has felt skittish for the whole time, uneasiness preventing his muscles from relaxing and his heart rate to settle. His body remembers the last time it was in here.

But it’s over now. It’s done. He’ll be able to put that behind him.

“Well, that went smoothly,” MacTaggert says, starting him out of his reverie. “Mister Howlett, it was a pleasure to meet the person that takes such good care of Erik. Even if I do hope never to see you again, if you know what I mean.” Her smile is as gentle as always when she turns to Erik. “I’m also glad you and Charles are finally warming up to each other. He’s a good kid, too. He certainly helped  _ a lot _ with this mess.”

No. Nope. Nope. He won’t think about Charles. That’s enough. He’s not his  _ friend _ .

Logan thankfully steps in. “Thank you, too, professor. The kid will be fine, and it’s also thanks to you.”

With a last nod and a handshake for Logan, she leaves them. Erik immediately turns to him.

“The  _ fuck _ was that? Have you abused of something illicit before coming here or something?”

Logan has the indecency of shrugging. “Not my problem if you thought I treated everyone the same as you. But well, I have a reputation to keep, and they sure as hell don’t need to know who I  _ really _ am.” The fucker even  _ winks _ . Erik wants to throw up, but keeps glaring at him. “Not that I don’t like your beautiful, loving eyes, but I gotta dash. I’ll see your charming face on Thursday.”

Another big hand on his shoulder almost makes him lose his balance and hit the wall, but Logan retreats before Erik can do anything about it. “Go to hell!” he mutters.

“Not before you, darling.” Logan replies with a middle finger before disappearing in the staircase.

Damn enhanced senses.

*

The end of the week comes fast enough, and Erik ends up watching the rain pour from behind the counter inside the shop on Saturday afternoon, all his chores done and enjoying a little break. The amount of water and the absence of a porch in front of the store have convinced him not to smoke, for once. Instead, he’s sipping from a can of coke that he took from the refrigerator that stands on the far left corner.

The temperature has dropped with the arrival of the thick, grey clouds, and no tattoo is visible today, except for the ones on the back of his right hand and the letters on his fingers.

He really wants to have a smoke though, his fingers missing the sensation of holding a slim tube between them, his lungs calling for a fulfilment of toxic smoke.

Inactivity gnaws at his brain, but the rain seems to have convinced people to stay home, the street in front of the shop completely empty and no car coming his way for the past fifteen minutes. He takes another sip of his drink, concentrating on the rush of sugar that sings in his veins.

Adriel went in the back half an hour ago to concentrate on his bookkeeping, and the scratch of his pen on the paper is the only sound Erik registers for a while now. He practices, stretches his power farther and farther away, keeping tracks of the bigger avenues.

That’s how he notices the car turning left then right before engaging in the empty street. A simple sweep under the hood screams  _ rich _ in Erik’s head. Big, well-manufactured, silent engine that calls for something pricey, maybe British or German.

He’s not surprised, then, when a black Bentley smoothly stops in front of the store and someone gets out of the rear door. They promptly cross the sidewalk with their jacket over their head as they rush to the door. The engine is still running, ready to leave.

It doesn’t take long for Erik to recognize Charles.

*

The boy enters, one arm over his head, holding his jacket above his hair, the other tight against his body. His white button-up—always buttons-up—seems mostly dry.

Charles idly acknowledges him with a nod, rushing to the aisles as he lowers his arm and his improvised shelter. Something seems amiss—catching Erik’s eyes in a fraction of second—something like amassed brown spots on Charles’ shirt, near the arm he keeps tight against the fabric, but he moves too fast for Erik to be sure. Might have been mud projected on him by a passing car earlier, Erik thinks. The puddles outside are broad thanks to the autumn leaves blocking the drains.

Erik turns his head and tries to see if the old shopkeeper is visible from where Erik sits behind the register. The door to the storage room is still open but the man is nowhere to be seen, to Erik’s deepest disappointment. He would have loved to switch places and let him deal with Charles. He’s not really in the mood for awkward silence and averted eyes.

He stands from his stool, stretches his neck to the side in a tiny hope of seeing him.

With no fucking luck, as always. He sees Charles’ mop of hair coming closer to him over the central aisles. He steels himself, ready to face him.

Charles is holding a few products against his torso, having not bothered with a basket, and he drops them one by one in front of Erik, picking the items with his free hand. He doesn’t look at Erik, keeping his eyes to the counter between them. Erik doesn’t move for a second, arms remaining to his sides, as he just looks Charles over. His jacket is now on his shoulders, zip closed up to his neck, covering the whole shirt.

Charles doesn’t look at Erik, doesn’t raise his head, but that doesn’t prevent Erik from seeing deep dark circles under his lashes, or the drawn out features giving the impression that his skin is even paler than usual. Charles seems tired—and that’s a fucking euphemism. He seems at the end of his line. He might be alive, but he certainly doesn't seem lively.

Erik drops his gaze to the few boxes on the counter. And back to Charles as he takes the first one to scan it. Painkillers. Steri strips. Balm. Antiseptic.

“Are you secretly managing an underground drugstore or something?” Erik asks, tone casual, and it has the benefit of earning Charles’ eyes on him for a brief second. Expressionless, exhausted, waned beautiful eyes. But they are gone from his sight way before the surge of finding a way of warming them to their usual light strikes him.

Charles produces a thin wallet from a pocket and holds it with the hand cradling his abdomen, slipping a note out from the other. He waits for the change and pockets it in the wallet, putting the leather piece away again before gathering his items one-handedly.

“Do you want a bag?” Erik asks dumbly. He’s out of his depth, right now. He doesn’t understand what, exactly, just happened here. Charles looks like a ghost, all stiff limbs and translucent features, and that unsettles Erik much more than he expects.

Charles turns away and leaves the store without another look, without muttering any word. In a blink, the car is gone.

_ What the fuck _ .

 

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for some discoveries?

.

 

Despite trying not to do so, Erik plays that last encounter with Charles a million time in his head before Monday comes by.

They’ve had a fairly decent weather until then, but the mid-December winter has well and truly settled now, and Erik endorses a thick jacket and a scarf before leaving for school. The air he exhales into the early morning condenses quickly, even if he buries his noses into the wool. His muscles are tight from his morning training, but he forces them to relax in order to prevent trembling uncontrollably.

Rolling his cigarette also proves to be a challenge once he’s in front of the gate, and Raven must be in a good mood, because she gives him one of those expensive, all-white cigarettes.

“No time for your Bolshevik cigs, eh?”

Erik glares back, but takes the proffered cigarette and lights it. The bigger filter feels a bit wrong between his lips, but he won’t complain. Nicotine is nicotine.

He doesn’t take long to finish it, takes a couple minutes at his locker, and goes to his usual Monday-morning English class. The one he shares with Charles. He doesn’t realise his stomach is tight with knots until it sinks, when Charles is nowhere to be seen into the room. He’s always there in advance, lost in contemplation.

Erik sits and draws his things from his bag without looking anywhere but at Charles’ place. Is he going to come? He  _ knows _ something was wrong on Saturday. And maybe,  _ maybe _ , he should have asked, even if Charles is the biggest bigot and pain in the ass he’s met here. Maybe even ever.

Thinking about it pisses him off so hard that, when Charles finally enters and sits slowly just before the bell announcing the start of the lesson rings, Erik decides he doesn’t give a shit. That’s not his problem, after all. He forces his eyes to stay on his book for the whole duration, and leaves class rapidly at recess.

*

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t cross path with Charles for the remainder of the day, even at the lockers. Neither does he, at all, on Tuesday. He’s used to seeing Charles at least once a day, despite all of his usual efforts. It’s distracting, and it unnerves him even more.

Throughout the day, Erik learns that, because they are short one sports teacher since the debacle, his gym class switches with calculus, putting the first from ten to noon on Wednesday instead of from eight to ten.

He’s almost surprised, then, to see Charles waiting on a bench near the oval tracks that circles a grass pitch when he gets out of the changing room. He’s huddled in an oversized grey hoodie and navy blue sweatpant— marked with the school’s mascot, a Shark— and seems to focus on his shoes as he laces them tightly, one foot set on the bench. 

As Erik gets closer, he notices two things: first, the black mittens that cover Charles’ hands, leaving his fingers free and at the mercy of the cold. Second, the tight expression that Charles holds to, reminiscent of the one he’d worn on Saturday, but that seems to recede when he sets his foot down on the ground.    

Charles lifts his head when he hears Erik walking near, but turns his attention right away, greeting another student that jogs to him and that Erik recognizes as one of the guys in his own gym class. 

_ Summers _ . 

Charles stands and they walk away from Erik and to where the teacher is setting a bag full of balls and colourful jerseys, as Summers talks and moves his hands wildly. As all the other students exit the changing rooms, Erik follows the masses.

He ends up playing football with his classmates while the others run on the tracks. Not his favourite game, but well, the exertion is always welcomed, even if it means that anytime he raises his head and sees Charles, the questions he asks himself since Saturday flood his tormented mind.

*

At the end of the session, he agrees with the teacher that he’ll gather everything they used and put it all away in the storage room himself, as he needs to put the door back in place—the one he threw at Frost and Shaw, which is still lying poorly in the dust near the back wall, bent and damaged.

It doesn’t really take him a lot of time to reshape it and to fix the hinges, but he loiters there, finding the spots for the balls and the jerseys, making sure everything is in order.

When he’s done and he goes back to the changing room, it’s empty. The students must have been hungry enough to rush out of here, he thinks, as he strips to his boxers. He grabs the small towel in his sports bag, intending to take a long, peaceful shower. But that’s before he registers that water is running inside the pipes, meaning that at least one of the showers is still on. As he turns the angle leading to them, a bit disgruntled, he stops right in his tracks.

Even with the dim glow given by the ceiling light, what he sees first he recognizes easily, with a flutter in his groin, with a vivid memory flashing behind his eyes. The perfect curve of an ass his hands remember touching and groping ten days ago like it was only yesterday.

But what he sees next, when he takes the whole picture in, he would never have expected. What he sees next revolts him and angers him and, most of all, shocks him so deeply he loses his voice, his words, his thoughts.

Charles faces the back wall, body under the spray, head down as he concentrates on his hands, working on his left flank.

Wherever Erik’s eyes land, whatever body part he observes, there isn’t one square inch of skin not scarred or marred with bluish purple bruises. His focus comes back to Charles’ side, and that’s where he discovers a long, angry red gash following Charles’ ribcage.

Charles’ attention turns to him in an instant when Erik’s towel falls on the ground in a quiet thump. His head whips against his shoulder as his body turns to the side— to hide, Erik realises— his eyes gleaming with furious gravity.

“Oh, I see.” Charles’ voice is ice-cold and bitter, dripping sarcasm when he finally speaks, after a few seconds of glaring daggers at Erik. “At least, you’ve stopped thinking about my ass. What an improvement. Get out of here.” His arms cross to his front, elbow and opposite hand trying to cover as much skin as possible, as Charles turns his head back and stares at the wall.

Hiding. Ashamed. Wounded.

Erik’s heart hurts, squeezing painfully in his chest, as he realises truly what’s in front of him.

A boy suffering abuse on a daily basis, skin a patchwork of recent and older scars and bruises, flesh taut on his visible ribs and spine.

A boy  _ he  _ has abused ten days ago, focused only on his own needs, his own pleasure. What if Erik had removed Charles’ shirt that day? What if he had taken  _ just a little bit more _ care with Charles, whom he has desired since they met?

In three strides, Erik is at Charles’ side. 

Charles, clearly surprised by Erik’s action, as that wasn’t in the least what he’d asked Erik to do, tries to take a step back, but Erik seizes his wrist, his fingers clutching  _ too _ easily around the thin bones. He realises just now that he’s standing under the stream too and that his boxers are already soaked, but none of that matters. Not with Charles trying to get out of his grip, trying to hide once more. But Erik will never let him.

It doesn’t take long before the jittery movements cease, and Charles lifts his head, his expression hard and challenging.

“What, you don’t like the view anymore? Seemed fine for you last time,” he bites out.

“Charles…” Erik murmurs, astounded.

Charles visibly flinches at Erik’s tone, bends his neck, fleeing his burning gaze.

And it angers Erik more than he would have ever thought.

“Who did that to you?” Erik growls. Charles doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, and it ignites Erik’s rage. “ _ Who did that to you _ ?” he repeats louder, coming closer to Charles, looming over him, and he  _ knows _ he shouldn’t scream  _ at _ Charles but he doesn’t control the fury he feels.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

He compels his finger to open just a bit, realising the death grip he has on Charles’ wrist won’t help him in any way.

“It’s none of your business.” Charles mutters, and Erik has to fight against his primal reaction to close his fist again.

“Why did you let me fuck you in the state you’re in? Are you fucking reckless? Was it a way to harm yourself, too?”

“Oh shut up!” Charles shouts, voice reverberating on the tiles. “I  _ let _ you fuck me because I wanted that too, not because of a  _ stupid _ need to suffer or whatever! I am  _ not _ suicidal and I don’t  _ need _ any help, especially from  _ you _ .”

Erik realises they’re both out of the warm water when he notices Charles trembling in the cold December air in that non-heated changing room. He steps aside, not letting Charles’ wrist go, and grabs what he supposes is Charles’ towel on the floor. He unfolds it one-handed before giving it to Charles, who awkwardly covers his drenched shoulders with it.

“You certainly  _ look _ like you need help. That gash won’t heal by itself.” Erik finally says, indicating Charles’ flank with a motion of his chin.

“That was what I was doing before you interrupted me,  _ you moron _ . Now  _ let. Me. Go. _ ” He hisses.

Erik doesn’t intend to. “Let me help you for that, at least. I know how it’s like.”

“Your  _ help _ is the last thing I  _ need _ . And the last thing I  _ want _ . I swear I will  _ make  _ you if you don’t release me  _ at once _ .” Charles snaps through gritted teeth. He tugs at his still restrained arm but soon realises Erik will not let him go anywhere.

His brow furrows and soon the palm of Erik’s hand touching Charles becomes blazing hot. Erik propels himself backwards, shaking his hand wildly to cool it down after the pain of the burn reached his brain. But no, there’s nothing. The pain has disappeared. Like it never happened in the first place.

“What was that?” he asks, bewildered.

“That was me asking you  _ one last time _ to release me.” Charles answers, making him jump. Erik had almost forgotten him, lost in his feelings of acute pain.

“What, so you’re not a baseline?” Erik is so taken aback that he forgets to retaliate. “You’re a mutant?”

Charles scoffs, turns to his bag on the floor. “You really thought I was a baseline? Well, I guess I didn’t make it clear, but  _ yes _ , I’m a mutant. I thought my sister had told you. I thought  _ you _ had guessed, at least when I told you about Shaw, but it seems that I was overestimating your mental abilities.”

“So what,” Erik seethes, stung by the offense. “You can heat your skin up? Am I supposed to be afraid?”

“Oh Erik,” Charles shakes his head, mocking him. “My body didn’t change anything. It was  _ all in your head _ .”

Erik freezes. A shiver runs down his spine, and it’s not because of the chill in the room nor the steam from the still-running shower he came closer to while getting back. He can almost physically see those encounters they had, Charles and him, and how he knew about things— about Shaw, about Frost and the principal, about what Erik  _ thought _ of him— even if he had excuses every time.

“You’re a telepath.” Erik croakes. “You’re a  _ fucking _ telepath. I should have known, right? That’s why you were trying to meddle with my life! Well, stay  _ out of my head _ !”  He shouts the last part.

“I haven’t been in your head, Erik.” Charles curtly replies, even if his eyes drop to his hands. “I’ve never been. I don’t do that without consent.”

“Oh, right,” Erik feigns surprise. He takes a step closer, looming over Charles. “So pray tell, how did you know what I was  _ thinking _ about you?”

The words cut through Charles’ next answer, or maybe it’s his harsh tone, but the boy in front of him gapes for a few seconds before getting back under control.

“You don’t know how telepathy works, do you?” He cuts the reply Erik is about to shoot with a movement of his hand. “I don’t  _ search _ minds, but that doesn’t prevent thoughts from assaulting me when people think particularly loudly. And you,  _ my friend _ , are usually  _ shouting _ .” Charles sneers, contempt dripping from his face as much as water from his hair, and it sets Erik’s teeth on edge.

“Don’t ever think I’m you  _ friend _ . You don’t deserve anything remotely like this, not after what you’ve done to Raven. Hide all you want, but let her be proud of what she truly is.”

“You know nothing about us, Erik. I won’t let you judge me or what I did for her, because you don’t have  _ any _ right to do so.”

“You’re a liar, and a coward. You don’t want to do anything to change your life? Fine. Just leave us out of that shithole. We don’t need to be dragged down with you.”

Erik leaves the room with the burning sensation of Charles’ furious eyes digging holes on his back.

 

*

Erik spends the afternoon naked under his jeans, as his boxers are still damp from the surprise shower. Thinking again and again about what had happened, he still can’t realize how much of a fool he has been to want to help a jerk like Charles. They definitely have nothing in common. Charles has a way to push all of his buttons as soon as they cross path, and it’s hard to contain his anger around him.

Even if…

Even with what Erik has seen, today.

But that’s definitely none of his business. Charles has made that clear, at least. He doesn’t want help. Not from him.

And on top of it all, he hasn’t even been able to shower properly. Erik fucking hates this entire day.

*

It only brightens when he comes home to find his mother fussing around the Menorah she has placed on the low table in the living room.

“Oh, Erik, perfect! It’s time to light the first candle!” she calls when she hears him close the front door.

“I’m coming, Mama.”

He’s not a believer. He’s a Jew, yes, but only because his whole family is. Because his grandparents were deported to Auschwitz. He doesn’t wear the kippah nor does he keep kosher, though. But the traditions he respects. For his mother, his only living relative.

So he joins her in the living room and snakes an arm around her frail shoulders. He plants a kiss on the top of her head, lips brushing her grey hair.

“I’ll grab the matches,” he mutters, before leaving for the kitchen, putting his bag on the threshold. He comes back quickly and stretches his arm to give her the small cardboard box.

“No, no, you light it, Schatz.” Edie beams.

Later, they share a meal in the living room, and his mother gets the old photo album from the shelf. They look at all the pictures together, remembering a time when his father was still there, and she relates the stories behind each one, and they laugh.

If they cry a little too, it’s with a fond smile stretching their lips.

*

When Erik approaches his locker on Thursday morning, Charles is leaning against his own. He looks nonchalant, his back on the cool metal and his legs crossed at the ankles, but when Erik gets closer, Charles lifts his head and looks at him.

The shadows under his eyes are even deeper and darker than the day before, and his bottom lip is redder, if it’s even possible. Erik quickly understand why when he sees Charles worrying it between his teeth.

They eye each other with a solemn expression. Erik remembers way too vividly the body under the crisp shirt and cardigan, under the trousers. The deep gash on Charles’ ribs, most certainly held closed by the steri strips. All those scars.

As he got to bed the previous night, the memory came back at the front of his mind, and he has mulled over it quite a lot.

When he finally reaches his locker, Charles opens his mouth.

He quickly changes his mind, though, and closes it, seeming to think a bit more. Erik stays silent.

“You won’t talk about it to  _ anyone _ .” Charles finally says.

It’s not even a question.

Erik doesn’t answer, but his gaze must say it all.

“You haven’t seen  _ anything _ , do you hear me?” Charles growls, coming closer, looking almost menacing.

Erik raises his shoulders, dismissing him.

“Of course I have seen, Charles. And I won’t forget, except if you  _ make me _ .”

“I could.” He answers quickly.

“You could. But would you?”

Charles sighs and drops his gaze to Erik’s chest. He crosses his arms against his torso, and Erik is struck by the vulnerability of the boy in front of him.

“Don’t talk to anyone about that, okay? Especially not to Raven.”

“It’s none of my business.” Erik says reluctantly.

Charles raises his gaze again at that. They’re so close, and at the same time so far away, and Erik’s chest hurts with the want to do something, anything, and it scares him so fucking much.

“It’s none of my business,” he repeats firmly, “but you have to talk about that with someone. You know it’s wrong and unsafe. You know it shouldn’t be happening.”

“You don’t know any of it.” Charles fumes, exhaling noisily through his nose.

“I know it’s dangerous. I know it doesn’t help you.”

Erik’s hands tingle, yearning to touch, to reassure. He hates himself for feeling that. He hates Charles for making him feel that.

“It might not help me, but it’s not me I’m trying to help here. I’ll ask you to keep your shitty comments and morals to yourself.”

Charles sucks a sharp intake of air just after that, and the contrite look he wears makes Erik think he didn’t really plan to say something like that.

“Explain.” Erik hisses, looking at all the students around them as he closes a bit more the gap between them.

“No.” Charles takes a step back and quickly turns away.

“Charles!” Erik rasps. But that damn stupid boy doesn’t even acknowledge him, moving rapidly out of his sight. “Dammit.” He mutters.

What the  _ fuck _ is happening?

*

As English is the only topic Erik has in common with Charles, on Mondays, he doesn’t see him in a classroom for the remaining two days of the week.

He notices him on a few occasions in the corridors, though, and even if neither of them comes close to the other, Charles glares at him each and every time, as if he were trying to convince Erik not to talk just by looking at him ferociously. And Erik reciprocates with some hard stares of his own repertoire, because he’s a bit annoyed that Charles doesn’t trust him enough to leave him alone. He’s said he won’t reveal Charles’ secret to anybody, though, and he’ll keep his word. If the streets have taught him anything, it’s that snitches don’t live long enough to snitch twice, that some matters are better dealt only by the people concerned.

But afterwards, Erik thinks that it may be normal that Charles doesn’t trust him, actually. He’s given him nothing to build that kind of respect over. Hell, he doesn’t even remember having had a normal conversation with the boy, once.

And for the first time, it makes him really  _ think _ about it.

*

Monday spells the beginning of the last week before the winter holidays, and most students have a skip to their stride that Erik finds ridiculous so early in the morning. He throws his stub in the trash and puts his right glove back on before walking to the entrance, nose dipped into his thick scarf.

By the time he enters the English classroom, Charles is already seated, lost deeply in thoughts as his eyes are focused on the outside through the window to his left. His fingers are idly playing with the zip of his pencil case, keeping a constant movement that draws Erik’s mind to them like a magnet, a constant reminder of their touch and warmth against the metal. It feels like the flame atop a candle, alight in the darkness of his mind. It feels like Erik could answer to that call through the zip, curling smoothly around those fingers. It takes time to realise that Charles isn’t looking through the window anymore, but directly at him, an eyebrow raised, like he’s surprised. Like he just understood what that touch must have felt to Erik.

But MacTaggert chooses this exact moment to enter the class, just before the second bell ring. Charles’ fingers let go of the pencil case and he turns his head back to the board, expression closing up, picking up a pen instead. Erik withdraws the tendrils of his power, keeps them close to himself. He realises that his heart beats a little bit faster than usual, and fails to understand why. He  _ hates _ Charles, just as much as Charles despises him. He’s not supposed to feel attracted to him like that.

He’s cut in his thoughts by the teacher speaking. “Alright, listen to me. Even you, Steven. Yes.” She pauses with her hands on her hips, waiting for the student to turn back to her. “Good. It’s time to start the midterm project. You’ll have to study a novel and present your work to the class, and it’s something I’d like you to do in pairs.” Murmurs rise from the whole class, each one turning to their friend, but she rises a menacing hand that cuts them all. “I already have done the pairs myself.” She waits for the outrage hisses to recede before continuing, “There will be no changes. At all.”

She goes back to her desk and flips her sorter open, removing a sheet of paper from it and starting to read the pairs out. It’s more or less a chant of complaints and happy noises, until Erik’s name comes out of her mouth, getting his attention.

It’s all white noise when she says the second name.

He must have misheard.

But the face turning to him from the first desk next to the window is as surprised as Erik feels.

He’s got to team up with Charles Xavier. Isn’t it fuckingly ironic?

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so, SO much for all the comments! I love you all <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :)  
> We're starting the second half of the story now. Hope you still like it!  
> Thank you so, so much, for all the attentions! The kudos, the comments! I live through them <3

.

He’s still mulling over the news when she asks them to gather their stuff and to  _ calmly _ walk to the library together, in order to select the books they want to work on.

“Come on, Erik.” Charles says quietly, suddenly standing in front of him without Erik having noticed the student moving at all. He raises his eyes to Charles’ still closed expression.

“Right.” He mutters as he stands up. Let’s get it all over with as soon as possible, he keeps to his mind. The frown on Charles’ face shows that he has heard that, and Erik sighs. He forgets that Charles isn’t a baseline anymore— well, he never has been, but the revelation of his telepathy is still fresh on Erik’s mind. He can’t keep thinking things so loudly.

He sits next to Charles at a table when they enter the library, and waits for MacTaggert to explain a bit more of this project. 

They’ll have to establish the profile of the author, the literary current he was in, and study major scenes of the novel in a paper, then work on an oral presentation of it in front of the class. Besides that, they’re pretty much free to choose the novel they want, as long as they respect all the criteria she has set.

“Do you have an idea for a novel?” he asks Charles, who has kept his head down and his arms under the desk since they got in.

Charles shrugs. “Whatever pleases you, I don’t care.”

Erik taps his pen a few times against the table top, lost in thought. He observes his new partner from the corner of his eyes, and nothing in his demeanour shows any interest. His shoulders are slumped and his neck bent— almost to submission.

Needing to move forward with it, Erik rapidly considers the books he likes. “ _ The Once and Future King _ ?” he asks, almost to himself.

But it makes Charles move, raising his head and turning slightly to him. Surprised, once again, maybe?

“What, did you think I was illiterate?” Erik snaps, but his voice is not as biting as it could be.

Charles shrugs again. Erik feels the frustration gearing up a notch, but doesn’t say anything else.

After a tense silence, Charles sighs. “Fine. Go for it. See if MacTaggert approves.”

Erik gets up, ignoring the indignant look the librarian sends him when his chair scrapes loudly against the floor, and goes hunting the book down.

The more Erik thinks about this whole project as he ambles through the alleys, the more he struggles with the idea that he’ll have to actually spend  _ time _ alone with Charles. They’ll have to work together without actually killing each other. He remembers how the English teacher believes they are  _ friends _ , of all things. Fool. But maybe… 

Maybe Erik could learn a bit more about Charles, this way. There are so many things he still doesn’t get about the boy. He still needs to know who does that to him. Why.

It also means taking some time off work, if he understands correctly. Because even if they can do some research on their own, they’ll have to work on the oral presentation, and they can’t really do that separately.

He finds an old copy in a secluded rack and goes back to MacTaggert, presenting her with the book.

“Interesting choice, Mister Lehnsherr,” she says, smiling softly. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll both do with it.” What exactly is she hoping? For him to suddenly befriend her favourite student?

He comes back to the desk and drops the book in front of Charles before sitting back.

“Well. Have you read it?”

*

Erik sighs when he gets out of his next class at lunch time. He drops heavily on the bench across from Raven, and she immediately lifts her eyes from her phone, for once.

“What happened to you,  _ again _ ?” she says, laughing at his sullen face.

As he doesn’t answer, focused on opening his lunchbox, she nudges his knee with her foot under the table.

“Stop dreaming and wake-up, sunshine!” she singsongs, moving her fork way too close to his face to be safe.

He doesn’t really want to tell her he’s going to work on a long-term project with her  _ brother _ that she hates so much. That they have already planned to meet again at the end of the day, to plan some more work in the library, cramming as much as possible in the next two days before they can pool their knowledge together on Wednesday. Charles wouldn’t be able to attend any meeting during the holidays—too busy enjoying Christmas with their family, Erik had guessed.

But she doesn’t back off. “C’mon, Erik. I know your Resting Bitch Face. And it’s not exactly the same. You tend to glare a bit more. Yeah, like that, actually!” she adds after a while and a look in her direction.

“I don’t have a  _ Resting Bitch Face _ , Raven. What are you, twelve?” he mutters. “Leave me alone.”

“You know I won’t.” she continues, wearing a thick grin on her doll face.

Erik sighs  _ again _ . Sometimes he wonders why he bothers with her at all. He’d better be on his own. At least he’d have peace and quiet.

“MacTaggert assigned us a teamwork.”

“Oh.” She grimaces. “It’s… bad, I guess? Well, not for you, obviously. So who’s the poor soul you’re going to terrorise soon?”

“Charles.”

“What?” she looks like she doesn’t want to believe what she’s just heard.

“I’m going to work with your brother.” He states once again, hoping his expression stays as neutral as he wants it to.

He sees her mouth open and close repeatedly, looking just the fish out of her tank, but she soon regains a semblance of composure. He has the time to count to five and a half before he sees her bottom lip tremble, to seven before she burst into laughing.

“You’re… You’re…” but she can’t form a complete sentence, still breathless.

Just as he’s about to get up and leave her then and there, she calms a bit down, shrugging tears from her painted lashes. 

“Oh god, man…” She must note something by looking at him because she rolls her eyes. “C’mon, quit the broody mood. I wasn’t laughing  _ at _ you…” but when he glares daggers at her, she corrects, “no too much at least. Okay, it’s not cool at all to have to share a car with him every day, but  _ working _ with him? Damn you’re going to have to support him talking and bossing you around. I actually feel sorry for you,” she sobers.

Inexplicably, it angers Erik more than anything to hear her talk like that about Charles. The other boy hasn’t shown any of those traits she talks so much about with him. And he guesses he could do with a little bit more of talking coming from Charles. 

He tries not to rise to the bait, and settles for a snappish, “At least you won’t have to share as many rides with him for a while. As I’ll have to tolerate him to work after school a few times a week.”

“You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it! I guess I can thank you for that?”

“Right. Now eat your fucking salad and leave me alone.”

She giggles but does as she’s told.

 

*

Erik makes use of the five minutes he has left before going back to class to call the Davids. He’s worked six days a week for them for four months now, and he’ll have to cut it back to four or maybe five days. He really hopes he won’t lose his job, because the money he earns relieves his mother and he’s not sure anybody else would hire him so easily.

But Adriel is adamant: Erik has done so much for them already, and his education is of greatest importance. They’ll manage some evenings without him as they usually do during the weekdays.

As always, Erik finds himself arguing with them not to defend his case but theirs. If they had sought help in the first place, it was for a good reason. And the help couldn’t keep a simple engagement.

If he didn’t know the depth of his mother’s kindness, he wouldn’t even believe in the Davids’.

It doesn’t mean he has to  _ acknowledge _ he deserves such things.

*

When he enters the library after his European History class, Charles is already there, notepad covered in notes over multiple thick books. Otherwise, it’s almost empty, barring the librarian.

“Hi, sorry I’m a bit late. The teacher kept us a lot longer than I had planned,” Erik says as he seats next to him. He peeks at the notes. “Wow, you’ve done a lot already. This is the plan for the paper?”

Charles nods without lifting his head from the page he’s scanning. “I had a free period.” His voice is barely more than a throaty murmur.

Erik can see his blue eyes racing from left to right repeatedly, just like a fan in front of a freaking tennis match.

“Can I see?” Erik asks a little bit louder, earning a glare from the librarian.

Charles finally leaves his contemplation of the book to look at him. 

Erik tries to smile, the idea of it painful, definitely feeling a corner of his mouth going slightly up. But he knows he has failed to lift Charles’ sour mood. The boy doesn’t seem to be capable of any  _ emotion _ , as of late, and it’s starting to freak Erik out.

Charles handles him his pad without muttering another word, but doesn’t resume his reading.

It’s the first time Erik sees Charles’ writing, he notices. It’s messy and the lines he jumps seem to be random—far from what you would consider an organised student. It’s almost surprising, seeing the grades Charles gets.

“What is this word?” he points at one scribble he can’t decipher.

“Symbolic,” Charles says after a second, bending his neck to read at a better angle.

It earns them a loud shush from the librarian that Erik ignores completely.

“Seriously?” and his voice rises a bit more than the whisper he used before.

“Okay, that’s enough!” the librarian cuts before Charles can answer. She rounds her desk before marching to them. “This is a place of work, not a  _ chatting _ room. You should know better, Mister Xavier.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Charles starts, but she cuts him off again.

“Besides, it’s closing time.” She waves at the room, now almost completely empty but for some students closing their bags.

“But I need to use a computer for some research,” Erik chimes in, starting to get frustrated.

“Then you should have come sooner. I am closing. All the computers are already shut down anyway.” Seeing as neither Charles nor Erik moves, she firmly adds, “Now.”

“Alright, no need to breathe down our necks, we’ll leave… Fuck.” Erik spits as he turns to grab his bag. He didn’t even get a chance to open it, it’ll save him some time. Charles’ books are already closed and he’s shuffling them in his own satchel.

“That’s not language I will ever tolerate inside this library, Mister Lehnsherr! Especially coming from a delinquent like you! Out, Now!”

His next answer is interrupted by Charles’ hand on his elbow. He’s standing right behind him, to his left. 

“It’s okay, Erik. Leave it.”

How is he supposed to  _ leave it _ when someone clearly judges him without any valid reason? Without truly knowing him?

“We’re going, Ma’am.” Charles continues, addressing the librarian. His voice is calm yet coated with strength.

“Good. And remember the opening hours, next time!”

Charles leads Erik to the exit. Erik tries to resist the hand on his back forcing him to walk away from the hag, but Charles promptly dissuades him. “Don’t make me take over your mind, Erik. Get. Out.”

They stop when they cross the gate at the front of the school, and Erik immediately turns to Charles.

“What the fuck was that?” he spits, still angry.

“It was someone who wanted to go home as they usually do. And someone who may feel a little bit scared seeing you cursing and getting angry. I think you are aware of the power of your scowl and your general… presentation?” Charles’ sarcasm has the effect of a cold shower on him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get evicted from the library.”

Erik notes only now that Charles has talked quite a bit and that his eyes seem more awake than those past few days.

“It’s fine, she holds no grudge against any of us besides a mild annoyance. It was mostly a problem of timing. I didn’t think about it. We’ll have to find another place to work, though.” He thinks quietly for a few moments. “What about your place?”

Erik tenses immediately, imagining Charles standing in the middle of Erik’s misery of a life. 

The apartment is welcoming enough, he guesses, and his mother would be absolutely thrilled to have a guest, but it’s a poor neighborhood and a shitty building and the walls are still covered in stains despite his painting. It’s way below the wealth Charles is used to. Incommensurably lower.

“Can’t we go to your place instead?” he asks, hiding his embarrassment by fishing for his tobacco pouch.

It’s Charles’ turn to tense up, and his face shutters immediately. “Believe me, you don’t want to get there. We’ll work more on Wednesday, I have to go.”

“Hey, wait!” Erik takes a step, but Charles has already turned away.

And just like that, Charles leaves him.

Runs away would be more accurate.

*

 It’s awkward to wait for Charles at the gates on Wednesday, especially when Raven, leaned on the usual slick black car waiting to get her home, is making fun of him. And as the minutes pass by, it grates exponentially at his nerves. He’s almost glad to see Charles coming his way because she disappears quickly inside the car to avoid him.

Charles eyes the vehicle with an expression Erik can’t quite decipher, but that sure as hell doesn’t exude happiness. It leaves rapidly, vanishing in the traffic, and Erik turns to Charles, clearing his throat.

“Ready to go?”

Charles takes an instant to react, seemingly lost in thoughts, before ripping his eyes from the road to lay his eyes on Erik. “Sure.”

“It’s about a twenty minutes’ walk to get there, that’s still okay for you? Cause I don’t have a car or—”

“I don’t mind.” Charles cuts him.

“We could still go to a café,” Erik suggests, even if he doesn’t really want to pay an overpriced drink to be authorized to sit on a wooden chair in a noisy room full of draughts.

But Charles shakes his head no. He must have heard Erik’s thoughts, he guesses.

He sighs, the hot air forming a small cloud when it escapes his lips, and turns to start walking without a word. He can hear Charles’ footsteps behind him, so he continues his walk toward his home.

*

They finally arrive without having exchanged another word during the trip. Charles doesn’t complain about the stairs, only betraying his presence by the small pants that escape his mouth. Slightly strange for a track runner, Erik thinks distractedly, but what does he know. He’s used to climbing those stairs every day.

Finally arriving to his landing, he opens the front door with a brief movement of his wrist before getting inside. Charles follows, and as soon as he has crossed the landing, the door closes again.

“You can leave your shoes there. I’ll give you a quick tour.”

Charles doesn’t complain, doesn’t show any reluctance at being in socks in a shitty apartment. They cross the hall in two strides and Erik shows him to the kitchen first, where he drops his bag against the table. Charles does the same, and follows him silently to the small living room. 

They stay there, standing side by side, without muttering a word, but Erik can see him looking around, taking in the menorah and the flowery throw draped over the couch and the photographs his mother insisted on nailing to the walls.

He quickly turns around and shows the first closed door to the left, in another small hall behind the living room. “Toilets and bathroom.”

The door to his bedroom is slightly ajar, and even if the sun’s rays never enter because of the tall building facing his window, the brightness of the day pours a white, clinical light against the furniture. It leaves Charles with the possibility to examine the room easily. Erik doesn’t linger, showing the last door, leading to his mother’s bedroom, before escorting Charles back to the kitchen.

The ancient, wood table is pristine clean, but Erik nonetheless wipes it before showing a chair to Charles, because the idiot is still oscillating from one foot to another in the middle of the way, as if he didn’t dare touch anything.

Charles hesitates, making Erik sigh.

“It won’t break. Sit. Do you want something to drink?” he asks out of pure habit. His mother would be proud.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” Charles peeps, his hands clutched between his thighs.

Erik gets two glasses out of the cupboard and fills the jug with water anyway.

“It’s… nice, here.” Charles starts. He fumbles with his bag, gets his pen and paper out. When Erik doesn’t say anything, he adds, “I mean, your apartment.”

“I got it. And no, it’s not nice. It’s crap. Don’t try to be polite about it.”

Charles dips his head and doesn’t say anything more. His pen rolls between his fingers as he idly plays with it, but it falls to the floor.

“Sorry.” He mutters as he bends to get it back.

Erik notes the wince Charles tries to hide when he straightens back. The boy across him clears his throat and says, “Let’s work, then.”

*

Erik senses Edie’s old car approaching in the back of his mind, making a mental note of checking the motor later, because something feels off. He follows her thanks to her necklace, warm against her skin, the pendant hiding a picture of his father and himself that he knows so well.

He opens the door as he keeps working on his sheet, and sees Charles straightening up from the corner of his eye. He lifts his head too, when he hears Charles ruffling his papers inside his notebook.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving you alone with your mother?” Charles answers—almost a question, as if he didn’t know what to do, how to behave, exactly.

Erik shakes his head. “Too late. She won’t let you.”

“What do you mean?” Charles asks, worried lines forming on his forehead.

“Erik?” his mother calls from the hallway. “You’ve brought a friend home? How wonderful! You should have told me! I would have—”

“It’s okay, Mama!” he shouts to her as he rises and goes to meet her. Charles follows him to the corner of the kitchen, where Erik sees him hide against the wall. Erik smirks but only reaches for the bags in his mother’s arms.

“Well, won’t you introduce us?”

“Yes, Mama…” he sighs. He turns to Charles, who slowly appears from behind the wall.

“Hello, Mrs Lehnsherr. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do, wondering if he should raise his hand to present it to Erik’s mother, but Erik just rolls his eyes and goes back to the kitchen, letting all the room for his mother to grab Charles in a tight hug.

She then drags him back to the kitchen, holding him by his elbow, and Charles looks so lost Erik wants to laugh. “Tell me everything about you, love. Are you in Erik’s classes? I know it’s a silly question, of course you are. He’s a sweet boy, my Erik, don’t you think?”

They both turn to Erik when he drops what he was holding, the can ringing against the counter. He’s been so put off by his own mother that he hasn’t even stabilized it with his power. Erik feels his cheeks heating.

“Mama!” he scolds, hiding his face by dipping his chin against the top of his breast bone.

“Don’t mind him, darling,” she says to Charles. “What’s your name? Oh, Erik, you could have offered him something to drink! What did I teach you?”

Erik turns, affronted, “But I did! He didn’t want anything!”

He’s stunned by Charles’ small, breathless laugh. And, judging by the frown creasing his brow, Charles is, too. He recovers quickly, however, and answers Erik’s mother, “I’m Charles. I’m in Erik’s English class, and we have a project to do together.”

“Oh but sit down, darling,” his mother interjects. “I’ll make us some tea. Warm you up to the bones, I swear.”

And just like that, Edie starts to fuss over the kettle and the mugs as Erik finishes to put her groceries away.

It’s only when he has a steaming mug between his hands, leaned against the counter and watching his mother and Charles interact, that he realises something: Charles and him haven’t fought  _ at all _ since they entered the apartment. Charles has actually shown that he knows how to be polite—posh education, Erik guesses—and… And it’s unnerving. So far away from what he’s used to.

Charles is shy, reserved, whereas they usually almost crack their heads up against each other when they fight, and a small smile is tugging at his lips, almost sweet. It’s a whole new expression that Erik discovers, one that he has never seen on Charles’ face. And it sits so well on him…

And  _ oh fuck _ . He  _ didn’t _ think that. He didn’t. Erik focuses his gaze on Charles’ facial expression, but nothing is indicating he has heard him.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Edie says as she stands up, leaning on her hands flat on the table. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the living room. But make yourself at home, Charles, dear, alright?”

“I’ll try, Mrs Lehnsherr,” Charles answers, but she clicks her tongue immediately.

“Call me Edie.”

Charles hesitates, his fingers playing with the hem of his long shirt sleeve, and he quickly looks at Erik before going back to his mother.

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“You’re a sweet boy. See you later!” and then she toddles off, leaving them in a thick silence.

Erik finally manages to put his mug in the sink as his clears his throat, and sits back at the table. He doesn’t succeed at looking Charles in the eye.

“Well, shall we?”

“Hum…” Charles starts, visibly hesitant, too. “Sure, yes. Where were we?”

Erik resumes his writing, purposefully  _ not _ thinking about Charles, or the way he looks when he’s focused, or how this change in their dynamic is quite a relief—and he’s not certain he  succeeds. Not with how Charles keeps looking at him with that strange expression on his face.

.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for one of my favorite chapters...

.

 

The night has settled long ago, and Erik’s stomach is grumbling when Charles straightens on his chair.

“I should get going. I don’t want to impose more—”

But he’s immediately cut off by Edie, who’s coming their way. “You’ll stay for dinner, right, Charles?”

Charles visibly tenses. “I…” he looks so lost Erik almost pities him, but he was the one who wanted to come here. “I shouldn’t. You’ve done too much already.”

Edie shakes her head. “Nonsense, boy. I’ll make something good.”

“I’m sure, Mrs Lehn— Edie. But really, I should truly go.” Charles removes his phone from his pocket, checks the screen, puts it back. “My family is waiting for me, I need to go back home.”

Erik is relieved to see his mother’s shoulders drop in defeat, this battle over rapidly. “Next time, I hope,” she says, and Erik raises from his seat.

“Don’t worry Mama, you’ll see him again after the holidays.”

It seems to cheer her up a bit, and he starts to clear the table for them to cook. Without looking at him, Erik asks Charles, “How are you getting back?” to wherever he lives, as Erik realises he doesn’t even know.

“The… hm…” and Charles is embarrassed, but he inhales before trying again. “The driver isn’t far away. He’ll be there by the time I’m out of the building.”

Right. Of course Charles has a driver waiting for him. They’re really from two incompatible worlds.

“I’ll show you to the door,” he finally says when all his papers are back in his bag.

  
  


*

 

Later in the night, as Erik lays on his bed, stomach full and cheek kissed goodnight by his mother, he thinks about the improbable hours he has witnessed himself.

Erik is propped against his pillow, an arm under his skull and one of his too-long legs bent at the knee, his other foot resting against the metal bar of his bed frame. He plays with three spheres he has shaped out of iron scraps a few years earlier, levitating them between his open fingers. But his control over them slips once again and they fall to the mattress, one hitting his palm before going down.

He’s unsettled by something—someone, more accurately—and it bothers him to the point of losing his wits as if he was thirteen all over again.

He throws them away, hearing the spheres rolling on the floor and under his dresser. He’ll get them back later.

He  _ knows _ Charles has heard some—if not all—of his thoughts. The ones about them not killing each other for once. The ones about his beauty.

And yet he has stayed stoic.

Erik doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand the gentleness Charles has shown to Erik’s mother. He has never seen him being polite like this to anyone.

Not that he’s given him reasons to be polite with  _ him _ , but still.

*

The thoughts accompany him during the night, keeping him from a peaceful sleep. It’s with the urge to kick something that he leaves for school the next morning, teeth crushing one another as he grinds them, jaw tense.

Raven is nowhere to be seen when he arrives, so he goes straight to his locker, kneeling in front of it to grab a book he needs for the first period.

But someone’s getting on his way as he rises from his crouch and they collide, Erik’s head bumping hardly on what seems to be a bony elbow. He lets a hiss out from his mouth as he lands a hand on his head, pressing against his skull in the hope of reducing the throbbing pain.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Erik rises completely, ready to insult whoever it is that leaves their limbs unchecked, and  _ of course _ , it’s Charles. Who else could that be? And how the fuck didn’t he realise Charles was standing just over him? He’s getting used to the other boy’s metal—why is he so distracted?

“Sorry,” he mutters, just out of politeness.

“Don’t bother, Erik. We’re not friends, you think so yourself.” Charles glowers, eyes glaring daggers at him.

Erik’s surprise at Charles’ bite only shows by the raise of his eyebrows. What’s gotten into Charles? Apathy and friendliness the previous day, and now this?

There’s clearly something wrong in Charles’ demeanour. His body is so tense now he seems to almost vibrate, but Charles clearly doesn’t want any more attention about it.

“Not being friends with you doesn’t prevent me from using basic courtesy.” He sneers, but it only makes Charles snort.

“You? Basic courtesy? Right.”

“Raven  _ is _ right about you, actually. You’re a damn right bastard. Stay out of my face.” Erik takes a step back, keeping his eyes anchored to Charles’ just long enough to see the sting of his words, before turning back and leaving the hall.

If Charles has a problem with him trying to act politely, he can shove that damn project far up his ass, because Erik sure as hell doesn’t give a damn about his college applications.

*

Raven is at their usual place comes lunch. He sighs before dropping down on his seat.

“Where were you this morning?” he asks, withdrawn. The hours went so slowly his eyes were closing without any control about it at the end of the first period. He’s got some sleep to catch up on. He hasn’t been able to calm down, yet.

Raven shrugs. “Had to see someone.”

He munches at  his sandwich without answering—it’s none of his business. They’re acquaintances, maybe even friends, but nothing more.

They eat in silence, both lost in contemplation of their meal.

It’s not uncomfortable.

Sometimes it’s even almost pleasant, to sit in silence, but not alone.

It prevents a lot of harsh words to leave their mouths without filtering them first.

*

Students are just like children, the last day before Christmas break, and Erik shoulders past them with intent, glaring at anyone staying just a bit too long on his path. He doesn’t see Charles, though, but that’s for the best. He won’t see him for another two weeks, actually.

He parts with Raven at the end of the day, half-heartedly giving her back the well wishes she throws at him. Turning back to head home, he sees a flash of brown curls crossing the gate from the corner of his eyes, but doesn’t turn.

When he gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway and crashes on the couch, letting a long suffering sigh escape his lungs.

He’s woken up by his mother’s hand ruffling his hair gently. The sky is pitch black outside of the window, the moon rising.

“What time is it?” he asks groggily, rubbing at his sleep-heavy eyes.

“Almost 8. I’m going to make dinner. Do you want to help?” Edie answers, her voice always so kind.

“Sure,” he answers after a bit. He jumps out of the couch, stretches, and finally follows her to the kitchen.

“Next time Charles comes here, tell him to stay for dinner, okay?” she smiles at him as she lays the ingredients of her chicken masala on the counter. He automatically reaches for a pair of knives and makes them float to him as he takes the cutting board in his hands.

“I’m not even sure he’ll come back here, Mama. Don’t get high hopes.”

She frowns at him, putting her own cutlery asides to touch his arm.

“What do you mean? You’ve got your project to do together, right? How are you supposed to do if you don’t meet?”

Erik sighs, endlessly tired of thinking about him.

“I don’t  _ know _ , Mama.” His hands, flat on the counter, tighten into fists as his anger rises once again. “I don’t  _ care _ .”

“But he’s your friend…”

“No, he’s not. He’s an arrogant bastard who thinks too highly of himself.”

“Oh, Erik. I’m sure it’s not true. He was so sweet the other day, I’m sure there’s a reason if you two got into a argument. It’ll be fine, believe me.”

Erik barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes.

“We’ll see,” is all he says to his mother before picking his vegetable chopping back up.

He’ll see.

He doesn’t believe it one second, though.

That’s just how people are.

*

Erik’s got a few days of peace, mostly working in the shop or spending time with his mother besides his regular homework, before Raven starts flooding him with useless texts.

_ I’m bored _ , she writes, followed by  _ I can’t even go on a stroll, I have to decorate the ballroom because the cooks are too busy preparing dinner.  _ Or,  _ Playing with the garlands. I miss cheerleading, sometimes.  _ The constant vibration of his phone irritates him greatly while he’s at work, so he ends up leaving it on the counter while he restocks the food shelves.

The store is full of people until mid-afternoon, buying items they forgot in bigger supermarkets that they don’t want to wander in now, as they would be packed on Christmas Eve.

He picks his phone up afterwards, seeing at least a dozen of unread texts from Raven, again.

Before reading them, he answers  _ Don’t you have better things to do than annoy me?  _ To which she answers immediately with a  _ Now, yes, happy Hanukkah! _

He doesn’t have the heart to correct her—the Jewish festivities are over now, and he doesn’t want to start a lengthy explanation by text, anyway.

He still has a present for his mother, though. He couldn’t buy it before recess because of the project and his weekly meeting with Logan and the work the other nights, but he has been able to go in a jewellry shop in the corner of the street during his lunch break at the beginning of the week. He plans on giving it to her the next day, even if they don’t usually celebrate Christmas.

He scrolls through Raven’s texts, surprised to find a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips while reading all the useless things she sent him, rolling his eyes.  _ Why do they insist on roasting a full turkey when we only are five to eat? I hate eating the same leftovers for days, even if the cooks find other ways to prepare them. Can’t we choose our brothers? I’m sick of mines. I have to tolerate Charles every fucking day at school, and the other one is around for the holidays, and he’s so annoying. Keeps nudging and teasing me. Why can’t I have a silent, dark, brooding brother like you? I would be the one always teasing. Let’s be brother and sister, you and I. We could control the world! _

Erik shakes his head, and goes back to work.

After that, the days come and pass in a blur of monotony, except for the New Year’s Eve, which he celebrates with his mother and some other families from the synagogue. He even sends a text to Raven first, to which she replies with a fuck ton of emojis.

*

The air is brisk and smells of snow when Erik leaves for school on the first Monday morning of the year. He’s glad for his thick gloves and scarf, and tugs the hem of it over his nose.

When he arrives in class, Charles is already there, as always, this time leaning against the wall, his own heavy scarf knotted tightly around his jaw, leaving the impression that it’s eating his face and he’ll soon disappear inside of it. His eyes are closed, and he seems utterly exhausted, hands hidden deep inside his night blue cardigan. And it bothers Erik despite his will, because it’s not the first time he notices that after a holiday.

Erik keeps an eye on him until MacTaggert appears and Charles seems to wake up. Grudgingly focusing on the lecture, Erik can’t stop himself from stealing a few glances in Charles’ direction during the period.

He’s still fucking pissed at him from their last encounter, but he can’t prevent the sharp pang he feels. There’s definitely something, and not being able to put his finger on it sets him on edge.

*

Charles disappears for the rest of the day without exchanging a single word with Erik. Well, he guesses the project is not so important. He certainly won’t ask about it first.

That’s why he’s so surprised to find Charles looming behind him in the hall at the end of the last period of the day. Erik is dropping his books for the night, in a hurry to get home because the snow has started to fall during the afternoon and the massive flakes are already covering the asphalt.

“I…” Charles starts as soon as Erik turns to leave, closing his locker with a thought. Erik startles a little bit, but only because Charles is actually  _ talking _ to him.

Charles is looking at his feet, bag slung over a shoulder and hands still inside his pockets, stretching the fabric. His scarf muffles his voice when he continues, “I’ve worked some more on the book during the holidays, and I’ve brought my computer to show you my results. Can we… Can we go to your place?”

Erik is frozen into place for a second—Charles really is a fucking emotional rollercoaster all by himself—but soon shakes his head to clear it.

“Alright,” he says, “But we have to hurry if we don’t want to get soaked.”

Charles nods, the movement lost into the wool, and follows him as soon as Erik has shouldered his own bag.

The snow is completely flattened and already melting in front of the school, courtesy of hundreds of students messing around, but as soon as he stands foot on the untouched sidewalk that leads to his home, the white powder crushes noisily under his soles.

It takes a few long strides to notice that Charles doesn’t follow as quickly. He turns around and watches the other boy struggling to reach him. His steps are disrupted, and his whole body seems rigid.

“Do you—” Erik starts, raising a hand to Charles’ bag.

“No. Keep going, I’ll follow.” Charles’ brow is furrowed, but Erik complies, turning around and resuming his march. He slows a bit down after the first steps, though.

When they finally reach his building, his hair is drenched from the melted ice and the shoulders of his coat are starting to get truly soaked. At the price he’d gotten it for, he can’t expect it to be warm  _ and _ water-resistant.

Charles is panting beside him, so he quickly opens the door, and they rush inside.

Soon enough, they’re in the apartment, and the air is warm and smells of rugelach, and Erik quickly disposes of his coat and shoes to go kiss his mother on the cheek and steal a bit of batter. Charles follows, sock-clad but still covered up to the ears.

“Hello, Edie,” Charles says, and even if neither of the Lehnsherrs can see his mouth, the smile is audible in his voice.

“Oh, Charles! What a wonderful surprise!” she exclaims. She rounds the table and hugs him. “Erik didn’t tell me you were coming. You’ll stay for dinner, this time, alright?”

“Sure,” he says, a little breathless. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Oh but don’t stay here! Go get your work done, and I’ll tell you when it’s ready!” she exclaims, turning back to her baking.

“If you need any help, don’t hesitate—” Charles adds, but Erik’s mother just shoos them out of the room. They end up in Erik’s room without thinking about it, and Erik takes the chair at his desk while Charles sits on his bed after an approval from Erik.

He immediately opens his bag and gets his laptop out, opening it in a whim and clicking on the keys rapidly as it starts.

Erik turns to his desktop computer, an old machine that barely survives a bit of internet surfing, and logs in as quickly as it allows him.

He goes back to looking at Charles, intrigued. The boy is still focused on his screen and doesn’t notice Erik staring. His hair is already drying, curling at the top of his head as strands fall on his forehead, hooding his blue eyes. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are red, and the scarf still hides his mouth. He’s still wearing a pair of gloves cut to the first knuckle, and the tip of his fingers are all covered by slightly orange things.

Something flares inside Erik. Something ugly, something reminding him of stories past. Something he barely contains.

Clueless, Charles wipes the back of a hand on his brow.

“I know we are poor, but we can still pay for the heating, you know.”

Charles starts and looks at him, baffled by the dryness in Erik’s tone. Erik tips his chin, pointing at Charles himself, at the scarf and the gloves.

“You can remove that. You’re going to have a heatstroke” He adds, deadpan.

Charles now looks like a deer caught in headlight, but soon, he subsides, shoulders slumping as all the air exits his lungs.

Slowly, he removes one glove, then the other, delicately putting them on the bed, as if delaying the inevitable. Opens his cardigan, letting it fall from his arms. His button-up clings to him, moist.

Erik crosses his arms, crushes his heels into the ground to stop himself from getting up, nostrils flaring with anger.

Charles’ right hand slowly rises to his scarf and unwinds it from around his neck. He keeps his head down, his eyes closed.

And what Erik sees is even worse than what he suspected.

“Who did that to you?”

He can’t believe he’s still asking the same question, over and over again.

There’s a huge ecchymosis cupping Charles’ jaw, blue, purple, almost black. Something already a few days old, but not much more. It almost goes as far as his cheekbone, and falls down his neck, following the curve of his throat, where four smaller bruises form a ladder between the hem of his shirt and his jaw.

“I fell down the stairs,” is Charles’ feeble answer.

“Bullshit,” Erik fumes, straightening ramrod on his chair. There’s something cold coiling inside his guts.

“I was carrying a lot of books, I couldn’t use my arms to protect myself, and I hit a step square.”

“And I guess this step left finger marks on you, too?” Erik growls. “And you hurt each and every one of your fingertips in the fall?” because those orange things are Band-Aids, covering them. “What the  _ fuck _ , Charles? When is this going to stop?”

He finally raises from his chair, the movement sending it crashing against his desk, but he doesn’t give a shit about the pens falling from it.

“I  _ told _ you it’s none of your  _ fucking _ business, Lehnsherr!” Charles stands up too, and his eyes are burning with fury. “Leave it. Leave me alone. We’re here to  _ work _ .”

“I’m not going to do any more work until you explain what’s going on!” Erik seethes through clenched teeth.

“Fine!” Charles shouts. “Then I’m leaving!” he grabs for his clothes and bag and turns to the slightly ajar door.

It slams against the panel, lock melting. Charles clutches at the handle, moving it up and down more harshly than it would deserve.

“Hell no, you’re not!” Erik threatens.

It doesn’t stop Charles from trying to flee.

“Charles…” Erik starts, his tone suddenly gentler.

“Let me go.” His voice is plaintive, almost desperate.

“Charles, look at me.”

“Please, Erik.  _ Please _ , let me go.”

“Charles,” his voice, louder, deeper, resonates between them, successfully stopping Charles’ movements against the door. “There’s blood on your shirt.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Any attempt at killing the author might succeed and have the effect of stopping the publication. That would be too bad...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you've been begging for it. Now I hope it will give you what you wanted <3
> 
> PS: this chapter might contain triggers towards the end, so please tread carefully, friends, and take care of you <3

.

Charles drops his head against the panel, defeated. Neither one of them moves, Erik feeling frozen to the core, his eyes stuck on the growing stain darkening Charles’ shirt between his shoulder blades.

Slowly, as if testing his body’s compliance, Erik takes a step forward, but Charles shrinks in reaction, like a wounded animal.

And he is, Erik comes to realise. Charles is wounded, once again, and gone are his pretence and his defiance.

Another step from Erik, and Charles turns abruptly, pressing his back against the wall.

“It’s nothing,” Charles states.

“No it’s not!” Erik seethes, his anger skyrocketing once again, his blood pumping in his veins to the point where he  _ feels _ it resonating in his ears. “Stop saying that.”

He forces himself to calm down. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

“I need to check that out, okay?” he lifts his arm, showing his open palm to Charles, beckoning him to get closer.

“I’ll do that when I get home.” Charles answers, stubborn.

Erik retains another surge of fury. “I won’t let you go anywhere until I’ve seen to that, so you’d better take the proffered help instead of pushing it away.”

“I…” Charles looks so lost, so out of his depth. The ugly bruise is stark against his pale skin, and Erik can’t stop his gaze from dropping on it.

“Let’s bargain. You let me clean and dress that wound, and I won’t ask any more questions. What do you think?”

“Why would you do that for me? Why should I believe you?” Charles asks, and he stands straighter, carrying his head higher, defying once again, almost taunting.

“Because I owe you one for Shaw. And I’ve never thanked you for that.”

They gaze at each other in silence for a while, both challenging, waiting for the other to let go.

Charles is the first to drop his gaze, and Erik sees the small nod he makes, even with his head down.

“I’m going to grab some stuff in the bathroom. Can I trust you to stay here?” Erik asks anyway, because the telepath could go anywhere without anyone noticing he had left if he wanted to.

“Yes.” Charles answers simply.

“Good.”

He walks to the door, one slow step after the other, giving Charles the time to do the same in the opposite way, and they both walk as far away from the other as possible, getting close to the furniture and leaving as wide a space as they can get in the small bedroom between them.

The lock melts back into form as soon as Erik touches the handle, and he leaves the room with a last look to Charles. He’s gone back to the bed and plays idly with the buttons of his shirt.

Erik crosses the hall in two long strides, enters the bathroom and starts rummaging through their—admittedly well stocked—first-aid kit. His mother had to use it so many times on him that they’ve kept the whole thing in a toolbox.

He closes the door silently when exiting, hearing the voices coming from the TV in the living room. Good. But he stops in front of his own room, suddenly hesitating. What if Charles had left anyway?

An irritated nudge inside his head surprises him and he spurts into motion—Charles is still inside Erik’s bedroom, shirt now unbuttoned and out of his trousers, but still hanging over his shoulders.

There’s a surge of… something, inside of Erik at the view, and he needs a second to shake it out of his mind, keeping it tightly in check.

“I’ll sit behind you, alright?”

Charles nods once.

The mattress dips under his knee, and he takes all his time to get installed, wary not to make any abrupt movement. In the same time, Charles shimmies out of his shirt, revealing his back to Erik.

And even if Erik has seen Charles fully naked once, it was in a dimly lit shower room. Now, with the cloudy, white sky that pours light through his window, the darkness of the night not yet settled, Erik finds it hard to swallow.

More white, healed scars than he had counted—burns, cuts—some others still an angry pink, like the one barring his flank. The big, wide gash that Charles was dressing when Erik had walked in on him in the showers after sports. The skin is puckered, still slightly inflamed, but closed.

He can’t say the same for the new one. Charles had obviously tried to dress it, but the wound is in between his shoulder blades, and even with supple limbs, it would be really hard to do it alone. The Band-Aid is crooked and doesn’t stick to the skin correctly, and blood has leaked through the gap and into the threads of his shirt.

“I’m going to remove your dressing, alright? I’ll have to touch you for that. Are you ready?”

Another subdued nod.

“Okay,” Erik starts, lifting his hands. “I’m going to touch you now. If something bothers you, you just have to tell me, alright?”

He grabs the bandage with one hand and places the fingertips of the other on Charles’ flesh to help remove the sticky parts, and he feels Charles twitch under his touch anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately.

“Fine,” Charles whispers back, seeming exasperated. He sighs, forces his muscles to relax. “I’m not going to break, would you get on with it?” But Erik doesn’t sense any true heat in them.

“Okay,” he answers nonetheless.

The bandage is quickly removed, and Erik opens the box to grab disinfectant and some gauze to wipe the wound with. He hears Charles hiss, but he doesn’t utter a word, so Erik continues his cleaning.

Once he’s satisfied, he gets some new gauze and dries the wound before dressing it once again.

Erik quickly stands after that and goes to his dresser, where he retrieves one of his turtlenecks. He goes back to Charles and offers it to him silently.

Charles looks at his proffered hand, then at Erik’s face, then back at his hand.

“Take it. You won’t have to hide your back during dinner. You’ll give it back to me another day.” Erik says, lifting the piece of clothing a bit more.

Charles removes the sleeve he had put on and leaves his ruined shirt on the bed, before rising to his feet and grabbing the turtleneck.

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” Erik answers. He puts his hands in his jeans pockets while Charles dresses, but soon finds his puzzling blue eyes on him.

“Your mother won’t see my back. But she will see my face. I can trigger a memory of it from when she saw me last time so that she doesn’t see it like it is right now. Would you let me do it?”

Charles’ face is closed off, serious. Erik’s eyes fall once again on the ugly mark barring his delicate jaw.

He hesitates, though, because he doesn’t like the idea of being manipulated, of his mother being manipulated. But what if she saw  _ that _ ? She would freak out, for sure. And it’s not the right time for that. And… And Charles had trusted him, the violent, choleric kid, with his wound, showing him his weakness. Erik could maybe… trust him back a bit, with his head, even if Charles’ power is more than a little intimidating.

“Sure, okay. It might be better, yes.”

At that, Charles lets a deep sigh escape his lips, relieved.

“Let’s get back to work, until then?” he asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Sure,” Erik agrees.

It’s harder to focus on Charles’ computer afterwards, when his mind floods him with visions of Charles in Erik’s too-big turtleneck, his white teeth appearing over his lush, red lips to bite them. When he feels the need to ask the questions he has promised he wouldn’t.

But he pushes it all at the back of his mind, and locks it away.

*

Edie calls them for dinner later, and they share a last knowing look before getting out of the bedroom.

The table is already set when they enter the kitchen, and Erik struggles to repress another sigh. “Mama, you should have called us sooner, we would have helped.”

“No, no, that’s okay. You need to work hard.” She answers, already filling the plates.

“But you’re not at our service. We should have helped.”

“We’ll do the dishes,” Charles adds, and Erik turns to him to argue, before he realises Charles is right.

“Yeah, we’ll do that.” His mother opens her mouth, but he continues, “Please, Mama. You’re doing already so much for us.”

“Alright, Schatz,” she concedes.

“It smells heavenly, Edie,” Charles purrs, his nose over his plate.

“So taste it, love! Don’t wait, it’ll be cold.” She taps her finger near his fork. “And there’s plenty of it, so eat all you want!”

“Thank you, Edie.”

Charles’ voice is always so calm, so sweet, when he talks to Erik’s mother. He hasn’t got that…  _ aura _ of know-it-all that spooked Erik when they met.

But, getting to think of it, that’s how Charles’ voice truly is. They’ve just… haven’t got the opportunity to really talk without screaming or hissing at each other.

He stops chewing and looks at Charles sideways. He’s still chatting with Edie, eyes bright and skin smooth—there’s nothing to say, his covering charm works perfectly—his red lips welcoming a small fork of food from time to time.

He realises he’s staring when Charles looks at him. Their eyes meet quickly before Charles focuses back on Edie.

It reminds Erik that the both of them are still chatting, and he listens once again. His mother wants to know what Charles’ plans are after high school. As Charles opens his mouth to answer, Erik tenses. He doesn’t want  _ his _ project for the end of the year to be brought back on the table.

“I want to study Genetics, but I’m not sure where to, yet. I would like to move, so, maybe the west coast, I don’t know. I haven’t fully planned it, yet. I’ve sent quite a lot of applications.”

“Oh, Genetics, really! That’s impressive! You will be great, I’m sure!” his mother answers, patting Charles’ hand.

“Yes, I want to know more about mutations like Erik’s or my telepathy. They are beautiful, and there’s so much still to discover.”

“I always knew my Erik was special. Maybe that’s just being a mother, but I knew it. I’m so proud. And of you, too, dear. You’ll do wonders in research. Here, let me give you a second helping, you need to gain strength to succeed!” Edie adds, joyful as always.

Charles laughs, “It’s plenty enough, Edie, thank you. I’m already struggling to finish my plate.”

Erik, still a bystander, misses a heartbeat at Charles’ laugh. Another thing he has never heard, another thing a part of his brain finds it would like to hear again. He doesn’t understand why.

His eyes drop to Charles’ plate. It’s still more than half-full. His brows furrow. He’s never seen him in the cafeteria, and there’s a lot of places one could go to eat, sure… But he has noticed the thinness of Charles’ waist and the protuberance of his bones. He wonders…

Charles whips his head in his direction, eyes wide, afraid, and a shiver runs down Erik’s spine, coiling in his stomach, chilling his entire being, when he realises Charles has heard that thought—all of them, probably—and is scared of him. Scared of what Erik just understood about him.

“Oh, but you’ll have to taste at least one of my rugelach, Charles,” Edie interrupts without noticing the electricity in the air.

“I will, Edie, I promise,” he smiles to her, even if Erik notices the strain in it.

*

Erik doesn’t see Charles until Wednesday, after he left their apartment on Monday evening. They have managed to work a bit more after thanking Edie for her cooking and doing all the dishes as promised, but Charles has left without any other mention to his state.

He observes Charles from the corner of his eyes during the warm-up of their joined sports class, but he soon needs to focus on his game.

It doesn’t stop stray thoughts to invade his mind, but at least he can see where the ball is going. He doesn’t understand why he cares about Charles’ well-being. It’s none of his fucking business. If Charles had been in the streets like Erik did, he would have been nothing but a dead weight. Someone he wouldn’t have approached at all, because that weakness could have cost him a lot.

But he’s out of it, now. He’s out of all that gang shit.

And Charles… Charles isn’t as clueless as he first thought. He’s not a spoiled kid, either. He may be coming from money, but his behaviour is… correct. He’s nice to Edie. He’s respectful. In a sense, he’s nicer than his sister.

And Erik has been foolish to believe only the appearances.

He’s a jerk. A total moron.

And useless as a defender in a football team, it seems.

*

 He’s removing his shoes in the locker room when he feels Charles inside his head. It’s a whole new sensation, and at first he freezes in the middle of unfastening his shoelace, but Charles is warm and soothing—he doesn’t want to hurt him. With that certitude, he resumes his work, trying to blend in the crowd of sweaty students.

_ Erik? _ Comes Charles voice, small, hesitant.

It has nothing to do with when Frost got inside his head to hurt him, but he suppresses a shiver nonetheless. He doesn’t know how to answer Charles.

_ It’s okay, just put what you want to say in the forefront of your mind, just like you did. I’m sorry, by the way, about what Frost did. I promise I will never do that to you. _

Erik swallows. It’s hard not to think about a lot of things, and he’s afraid Charles is seeing quite a lot of things, right now.  _ What do you want? _ He thinks hard.

He feels Charles hissing.  _ Not so loud, please—could you… _ and his voice dims, shy once again.  _ Could you stay for a while? I… might need some help with my back… I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re the only one… _

_ Sure, _ Erik rushes to answer.  _ No problem _ .

He has promised to help, and he’ll do it. He lets his resolve show, trying to persuade Charles he can count on him. Whenever he wants.

_ Thank you, _ comes Charles’ answer. He withdraws, leaving a trail of gratitude behind him. A shallow impression of emptiness, too.

*

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing escaping Charles’ mouth when Erik joins him in the shower area.

Charles is already clean, and half dressed, trousers clinging to his hips. His towel is hanging around his shoulders, and he’s using it to dry his hair.

Hard to get irritated by his constant litany of excuses when he’s like this. Erik mentally slaps himself before going any further in his thoughts. He remembers why he’s here. He won’t let his attraction overflow, not when there’s so many evidences of abuse on Charles’ body. Not now that he’s aware of them.

“Told you. No problem.”

Charles turns to his bag, bends over to reach for his supplies inside of it, reminding Erik of that day in the theatre backstage, but he berates himself. He  _ can’t _ think of it. The only thing that matters here is to make Charles feel better. Not to lust over him.

And of course he hasn’t lost his attraction for the other boy. It only seems to get deeper now that he starts to know him. And it’s not something that Erik wants to acknowledge. Not right now.

“Sit on the bench,” Erik tells him while doing the same thing.

Charles removes the towel from his shoulders, letting his smoothed locks fall back on his nape.

With a feather-like touch, Erik slides his fingers to swipe them out of the top of Charles’ back, without really thinking about it.

But when he feels the shiver under his fingertips, he removes them quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

Charles shrugs, and Erik doesn’t know the expression he’s wearing. “Ticklish.” His voice is soft, amused. As if carrying a smile that Charles wore.

He stays silent, though, as Erik starts inspecting the cut.

It’s when Erik begins to rub it gently with a gauze and disinfectant that he expires shakenly and starts spilling words Erik isn’t ready for, startling him.

“My father died of a long, horrible sickness when I was a child. He used to play with me and test my abilities and just read to me and… and when he couldn’t leave his bed anymore, I stayed with him most of the day, and Mother made the help shoo me out when she noticed me well past bedtime…

“And one day he… he died, and I was alone for so long—not really, I had my nanny and the help and the cook, but… But when Mother got home with that man, Kurt Marko, I was so relieved. Even if she was still drunk, there was someone else, and maybe he would like me. It took me too long to understand that he would never like me.

He soon moved in with his son, Cain, and his daughter, Raven. And if previously he mostly ignored me, or showed annoyance, as soon as he was married with Mother, he started…”

Charles pauses, concentrates on breathing for a while. Erik is frozen behind him, his hands clutched around his thighs, preferring to hurt himself rather than Charles in his bafflement and anger. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do —

“He started to  _ teach _ me how to behave. How to stop  _ listening in _ . I didn’t do it on purpose, I didn’t have that much control back then, and he hadn’t liked that I asked him why he wanted our money… But he’s smart. He always strikes somewhere hidden. His son, though… he doesn’t care that much.”

Charles lifts his head and turns it just enough for Erik to see the bruise still present on his jaw.

“I bought foundation. Wasn’t sure I could maintain an illusion all day with so many people. I’ll reapply it before leaving.”

Erik doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel. His chest hurts for Charles. His guts roar for revenge. His head tries to assimilate everything Charles has said, wants to ask so many questions. His body wants to reach for Charles and hug him. He can’t. He can’t do any of that.

He swallows around the lump in his throat and goes to work on the dressing. Charles keeps his head slightly turned to him, but stays silent.

He doesn’t know what to do.

.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want some more? Here it is!

.

He takes a shower after that, quick and efficient, while Charles finishes to dress and apply the foundation on his face. When they’re ready to go, they leave the locker room and go back to the school. As they arrive near the gate, Erik sees Charles tense before noticing Raven leaning against the wall.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Charles says before fleeing inside, head down.

He hears Raven snort as he gets closer to her. “Finally! I’m starving because I was waiting for you, but next time you want to  _ hook up _ with my brother, just tell me in advance, would you? It will save me the displeasure of seeing his lab rat face.”

Disgust is clearly showing on her features, tightening the knot already installed in Erik’s stomach. He’s furious at Charles’ family, and at Raven, who lets that kind of things happen, aware of it or not. He can’t help but snap at her.

“Will you shut up? I’m tired of hearing you complaining about him! Don’t you have anything else to say?”

He continues his way inside, not waiting for her, even if he hears his name leaving her mouth multiple times as she follows him.

*

They’ve been working in silence for an hour when Erik drops the question that he has mulled over during the entire afternoon.

“Why did you tell me all of that?”

Charles rises his gaze from his computer after finishing mouthing out the last sentence he has typed—a habit Erik has noticed and refuses to find endearing—and looks surprised by the question. “What? Oh.” He manages to keep a blank face, even if the edges rumple before he can hide it. “I don’t know, actually.” He sighs, removes the laptop from his lap and draws his knees to him, circling them with his arms.

“Maybe I needed to finally get this all out. Maybe I felt like I could trust you. You haven’t told anyone when I asked you not to, you haven’t asked any question when I asked for that too, so… I… Yeah. Thanks for listening to me, I guess?”

Charles looks so small like this, like he wants to take the least space possible, to hide inside his own body. And he shouldn’t. Once again Erik finds he can’t fight the storm of emotions that seizes him. He stays rooted on his chair near his desk, unable to take a decision on what to do.

They stay silent for a while as he fidgets with a paperclip, and finally, Charles moves again and takes his computer back.

“Let’s get back to work, then,” he says, moving his finger on the pad to wake it up.

“Sure,” Erik blurts, turning back to his own screen. “Anytime. For the listening, I mean.”

*

Raven grabs his arm abruptly and faces him in the hall the next morning, her eyes flashing yellow in her anger. “Am I still your friend, or did my dear step- _ brother _ convinced you to turn your back on me?” she spits in his face, standing tall in front of him.

Erik glares back. “Have we ever been friends?” he asks, voice as cold as hers.

He observes the surprise smash her angry features, but continues before the hurt can sink in. “Just kidding,” he smiles, “Just stop complaining about him and we’ll be fine.”

He sidesteps her and joins his locker, but she jeers, her voice loud, “Yeah, very clever, Lehnsherr, it’s hilarious! Okay, see you at lunch!” and leaves the hall, tall and proud.

*

Charles’ wound heals properly under Erik’s care during the next two weeks, as they continue to see each other after school for the project.

Erik gradually learns more about him, discovers that he can tolerate him easily, finds that Charles’ company is more than enjoyable, after all.

And Charles trusts him a bit more each time, talks more freely, hides less.

And his smiles… Charles’ smiles become more genuine, more radiant, whenever Erik says something he finds funny or whenever Erik blushes after thinking about Charles again and he hears the thought. Not that he spies on Erik’s mind, he had explained one evening, but Erik had a bright mind that drew Charles near whenever he let his mind wander, that lit like a beacon every time Erik was impressed by him or just plainly happy.

And Erik is, when they surpass the remaining awkwardness every time they sit next to each other on the bed, working on the medium for their presentation. He’s happy when he makes Charles smile, or laugh, or blush. He’s happy to forget his life for a few hours and just be himself, something he never did before.

They agree to spend the Sunday afternoon together, the day before their presentation, in order to set the last details. February comes closer, setting a chill that gets to Erik’s bones whenever he goes out of the apartment.

His mother is out playing card games with her friends, so when Charles arrives, rubbing his cold hands together, Erik fixes him with a hot chocolate before they settle in his bedroom, both seated over the comforter.

“You need to tell Raven,” Erik states out of the blue, but it’s something that bothers him every time he sees the siblings inside a five meter radius from each other.

Charles sighs, his fingers caressing the edge of his mug, where his entrancing lips were a few moments before. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

“She hates me.” His head flops backward, hitting the wall.

“And you’ve never told me why.” Erik continues.

“She did. Isn’t it enough?” Charles answers bitterly, turning his head in his direction, still propped on the wall.

“Not anymore.”

Charles sighs again.

“Never should have been.” Erik hammers when he doesn’t answer.

Charles looks lost in his thoughts for a while, like he’s gathering them, trying to find where he should start from.

“It’s a burden I’m ready to endure. I’d rather have her hating me, but still happy, than living a misery because of the others’ judgment. We were homeschooled, when we were little, and it was okay for her to be blue at that time, because nobody truly cared. And then Kurt sent us to school to get rid of us, and the other kids were all so swift to hate someone because they were different, like any kid, truly. And Cain, even if he was her biological brother, had started to pick on us, too, because of the colour of her skin and of my own power. He was already a bully and a sadist. So yes, I taught her to hide. I didn’t want her to think I was ashamed of her. I wanted her to be  _ safe _ . So as soon as she had stopped showing her true form, I made him forget she even was a mutant. And I’ll keep his attention on me for as long as I need to. I’ll do anything to protect her, even if it means to be a stranger to her, or the person she hates the most on this planet.”

Erik’s heart clenches hard in his chest at the pain and resolve in Charles’ voice, at the damp sheen on his beautiful blue irises.

“But why didn’t you make him forget you, too?” Erik asks, keeping his voice barely above a murmur, because otherwise he thinks he would be shooting. “Why didn’t you protect yourself from the two of them? You’re powerful enough, I know that.”

Charles’ mouth lifts with a self-depreciated smile. “How would you know? You’ve barely seen anything.”

“I know you’ve been able to crush Frost’s lie. Don’t change the subject. Why don’t you stop them from doing…” he shows Charles’ body with a vague hand motion, “ _ this _ , to you?”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“It’s too dangerous!” Charles bursts, surprising Erik with the force in his voice. “I went too far once and he… he almost stayed in a permanent vegetative state. And I can’t… He’s a human being!”

“A human being who doesn’t really care for his own family—Charles, he deserves to be punished! Don’t you see what he’s doing to you? What both of them are doing to you? What will come next? You’ve helped Raven, why don’t you help yourself, too? Why don’t you let others help you?”

“I am, and I know you don’t understand, but keeping a low profile is all I can do for now. Until Raven and I are out of here.”

Erik snorts. “Using makeup and charms won’t protect you from the next blow.”

He runs a hand through his hair, messing with the strands, fidgeting.

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“I certainly hope you do, dammit Charles! You can’t tell me nobody has ever noticed? What about your friends? Hank, or Summers, or the other loud one? Aren’t they close to you?”

It seems to deflate Charles. “It has happened. But whenever they start wondering about something, I nudge them in another direction, and it’s barely a suggestion, I’m not removing any memories from them. I would never.”

“So why don’t you do the same thing to me? Why don’t you prod at my mind and make me think about the project, or whatever?”

Charles sighs once again, deep and trembling and so, so wary. He then looks directly into Erik’s eyes, crushing him with his cerulean gaze, and says, “Because you’re so focused on the tasks at hand that it would be forcing you. It’s the way your mind is—neat, organised. You wouldn’t let me implant any suggestion. I wouldn’t force it, either.”

Erik stays speechless for a few seconds. He wasn’t expecting that. He swallows.

“That’s nice, I guess? But making them forget isn’t aggressive, either.” He combs his hair, trying to get it back to its usual form. “It’s a way to protect yourself. You’ve got to stop being so selfless.”

“You don’t understand.” Charles sounds almost… disappointed. At the look Erik sends him, he continues. “I am capable to make you think you are a six year old girl for the rest of your life. Does that mean that I have to? No, it doesn’t. I can’t seek my own justice.”

“Then let the cops deal with it,” Erik replies, dimly frustrated, because his own encounters with the police had never been friendly in Pittsburgh, to say the least. “You’re hurt, you’ve been beaten down for years now, and it needs to  _ cease _ .” He straightens up, fiddles with a corner of his comforter when Charles doesn’t say anything more. He knows Charles knows what the best course of action is. He’s been so pent up because of the whole situation since he discovered it. He’s surprised to be so composed, right now, actually. “Have you… Did you just calm me?” He sighs.

Charles raises his eyebrows. “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t. Only if you ever want me to.”

Erik realises then that it may not be something Charles does on purpose. It may just be who he  _ is _ , that settles him. It may just be Charles’ voice, Charles’ presence with him that soothes the beast inside of Erik.

*

Erik still mulls over everything Charles has said later in the afternoon. They have just finished reviewing the presentation media for the next day, and Charles is closing his laptop and sliding it into his satchel.

Erik stays still against the wall as Charles unbuttons his shirt slowly, facing the opposite wall, where Erik’s mirror stands. He can see Charles’ reflexion in it, his head held down, hair shading his forehead, eyes lost in contemplation as his hands work on the buttons.

He feels a pang in his chest, his heart hammering against his ribcage as he admires Charles’ features. He still lusts over them, no matter what. He admires them.

He loves them.

Charles mustn’t be listening because he doesn’t react to that, focused on removing the cloth from his shoulders. He then moves back on the bed until the back of his knees touch the mattress, and Erik finally moves, settling behind him, sitting on his calves.

He retrieves the ointment he’s been using for the past few sessions on his bedside table and takes some of the creamy product on his palm, heating it between his hands before applying it between Charles’ shoulder blades. It’s a ritual they have installed together, where Erik had slowly gotten more comfortable with touching Charles, with taking care of him. Where Charles had slowly gotten more comfortable being touched by Erik.

He starts massaging the fresh scar, insisting where the skin is still not totally healed, and progressively widens his movements for the first time since he started treating the wound, cupping Charles’ scapulae, then his shoulders, the tip of his collarbones, and back down to his ribs. He puts pressure with his thumbs where knots tighten Charles’ muscles, thoroughly makes them disappear one by one. Charles’ head lolls faintly, and Erik can hear him humming when he applies pressure at the right places.

He’s so pliant under his palms, his freckles fading where his skin reddens after Erik’s passage. Erik finds that he likes to chase them with his eyes, retracing every curve of Charles’ back, up to his nape, where the small dots are covered by dark brown strands.

Without even noticing, Erik gets closer, admiring the dent of Charles’ spine at the base of his neck, where three of the freckles have decided to lay, where Erik’s mouth lands, lips brushing Charles’ skin, caressing.

Charles sighs under him, emptying his lungs, and through their reflection in the mirror, Erik sees that he has closed his eyes.

He keeps his lips against Charles’ skin for a while longer, breathing his scent deeply. Then, he replaces them by his forehead, and it fits perfectly in the curve of Charles’ neck. Silently, he slips his arms around Charles’ torso and hugs him loosely. His eyes close as Charles’ hand lands on one of his, accepting the embrace without a word.

He’s at peace, here, resting his head against Charles, feeling his heat where his arms circle him. Not moving, being lulled by the gentle up and down of Charles’ breathing, the feeling of Charles’ fingers softly stroking his skin. He’s good. They’re good.

Erik doesn’t know for how long they stay like that. He knows, though, that he has to move, because he already feels the pins and needles in his feet from staying too long in that position. He really doesn’t want to. With a sigh, he disentangles himself from Charles and sits back against the wall, stretching his legs on either side of Charles’ hips and moving his ankles in circles to reduce the painful sensation. Charles rises and buttons his shirt back before turning and dropping a knee on the bed.

Before he knows it, Charles has leaned into his personal space and drops a kiss on his cheek before retreating back to his standing position, flushing.

Judging by the heat that Erik feels radiating from his own face, he guesses Charles isn’t the only one.

“Thank you,” Charles whispers.

*

They meet in front of their lockers the next morning. When Erik stands up from his own, Charles is waiting at his side, nose buried in his scarf and fingerless-gloved hands clutching his books like a lifeline. Charles’ locks have been messed up with by the freezing wind, and Erik’s hands twitch with the want of settling them back at their place and freeing his beautiful face. Charles’ cheekbones are flushed by the cold air announcing a particularly hard February month, and his eyes shine brightly under the electric light. For the first time, Erik notices a spark that wasn’t there before. Something more alive. Something that warms his heart so much he wants to grab Charles and keep him in his embrace forever, his head tucked perfectly under his chin.

But they need to go if they want to settle before the start of their presentation, so he asks Charles to take the lead with a movement of his hand and they start walking.

As he follows Charles, Erik wonders what is going to happen between them. He can’t bury the way his heart picks up whenever Charles is around anymore. They haven’t talked about that moment between them the day before, and he isn’t sure of what to say. That’s not as if he would apologize for what he did.

But there’s something he should apologize for, and it’s the way he has judged Charles without knowing him. The way he has refused to acknowledge anything else but appearances, partly because of what Raven had told him. The way he has behaved like a fucking child.

They settle in the room and quickly, the computer is roaring and the video projector is heating quietly. They prepare their notes and sit calmly at Charles’ desk to review them, and soon the class is full of its students and MacTaggert enters. She talks for a bit before showing them the board, and it’s their cue to start the presentation.

*

Going back to work on a Monday after school feels kind of weird, as if just a few weeks of having Charles with him had changed his habits.

Liora greets him with her usual smile and nice welcome when he opens the door of the shop, and he can’t keep himself from thinking of home, of his bedroom, of a mug of hot chocolate.

But he mentally slaps himself and starts to work. There’s a lot to do already.

*

His birthday is two days later, on the thirtieth of January. And if he expects a hug and some sweet words from his mother before leaving for school, he doesn’t really expect Raven to remember.

They’re in the middle of their lunch when she raises her head from her sandwich with a surprised look on her face.

“Isn’t it your birthday today?” she asks, eyes as big as saucers, as if she just had remembered the date.

Erik nods, warily waiting for whatever stunt she’s going to pull next. It doesn’t miss, if the sadistic grin she wears now is any indication. Putting her sandwich down, she opens it and grabs a lettuce leaf before throwing it his way. “Happy birthday, asshole!” she laughs when the offensive piece of vegetable lands on his jaw, sticking there because of the sauce.

Erik freezes, not realising at first that she has dared to throw such a thing to him. He grabs the offensive green between two fingers and looks at it with murder in his eyes, before directing his gaze straight to Raven’s.

“You’re lucky I respect food more than you do,” he growls, as their cutlery starts to shake on the table, “because I’d love to make you eat that sandwich from the nose in retaliation.”

Her laughter is so communicative he can’t suppress a smile that tugs at his lips, even with all his will. It’s an affront very few people would have gotten off without fearing any punishment a year ago, he realises. It’s not so much about his pride, now.

He still wants to make her regret, though.

So he leaves her with a comb the shape of a fork deeply mingled in her hair, and as he walks away, she screams to his back, “Well done, Lehnsherr! Do you plan on becoming a hairdresser or something? Cause I look positively  _ gorgeous _ with it!” and her laughter accompanies him even after the doors of the cafeteria have closed behind him.

*

The second surprise of the day comes with Charles opening the store’s door in the evening.

Erik immediately tenses up when he feels the recognizable car stopping outside and has to struggle against his instinct imploring him to go check on Charles because if he’s here, it only means that —

But his jaw clenches painfully as he continues scanning every item the old lady in front of him has brought to the register, one by one, as fast as her hands full of arthritis allow her to. He resists the urge to raise his eyes from his keyboard, feeling that if he saw Charles in pain right now, the elderly could be hurt in collateral damage.

He follows the imprint of Charles’ belt buckle through the shop, though, as he hastens his movements, taking the packing of the groceries over and sliding everything over to her cart from above the counter.

When he has finally registered all of her items and given her the due sum, she wriggles a handful of coins and starts picking through them, holding her trembling hand just under her enormous glasses. He gives up and lifts the right change before her astonished eyes before giving her the receipt and urging her out of here.

He lifts his head and scans the store, oddly relieved to see Charles just a shelf away, far from the pharmacy, where his belt buckle resonates—and  _ of course _ Charles is at the same place as his own belt buckle, Erik berates himself. But his heart hammers painfully against his ribcage and he can’t really see Charles’ expression because he’s shorter than him and the shelf is almost his height and what if—but Charles comes from behind it, and his expression is not one of painful agony like Erik expected.

No, Charles is smiling softly as he comes closer to Erik, checking casually that there isn’t another customer approaching the cashier.

It doesn’t prevent Erik from rounding the counter and meeting him halfway.

“Are you okay? Is there something wrong? Do you need anything?” he rushes to ask, looking at Charles at every angle he can manage.

“No, no, I’m fine, Erik,” Charles shakes his head and lifts a hand in a gesture supposed to calm him. “I swear.” His smile is shy and his cheeks blushed, and Erik  _ doesn’t understand _ . The hand lands slowly on his elbow as Charles walks them to the desk. “I… wanted to give you a… hm. Birthday present,” he mutters, flush deepening endearingly against his fair skin.

“Birthday present,” Erik can’t stop from repeating, dumbstruck.

“Yeah, I figured I could give you a little something, I… To thank you, you know. For everything you did for me.”

With that, he retrieves a cubic package from his satchel and hands it over to Erik. It’s covered in deep brown paper with blue ribbons and sits heavily in Erik’s palm. There’s a brand name Erik doesn’t know all over it, but it seems to be chocolates, if the smell is any good indicator.

“Thank you,” he says, sheepish. “But I… don’t know when is yours.”

“Thirteenth of July. Long way from here. But anyway. I hope you’ll like them.”

Charles just stays like this for a while afterwards, looking at him from under his lashes, and Erik wants to capture his red lips in a kiss but refrains from it. He can’t.

Charles balances his weight from one foot to the other and finally says, “I have to go, now. But happy birthday again,” and before Erik can react, he closes the distance between them and leans on the tip of his toes to drop a kiss at the corner of Erik’s mouth.

He’s gone before Erik’s brain can restart, and the only thing he can do, besides standing alone in the middle of the alley with a box full of chocolates as there are customers waiting for him, is to touch his cheek with his fingers.

.


	16. Chapter 16

.

Erik receives a text from Raven when he opens the door to his home, saying  _ That was a nice comb, thank you so much, but it’s a pain in the ass to remove! At least as much as you are, I guess!  _ To which he simply answers  _ Revenge is a dish best served cold, you nuthead _ .

He pockets his phone when he joins his mother in the kitchen to help her finish making dinner, leaving Charles’ gift on the table.

He finally opens it after dinner to accompany the warm apple pie Edie had baked, and is left in awe in front of all the variety the box presents, the little booklet talking about black chocolate from Venezuelan cocoa and roasted almonds milk chocolate and dozens of other sorts.

It’s with surprise that he finds the price still taped to the bottom of the box, and it soon turns to embarrassment mixed with a bit of shame. He would never be able to casually buy something like that to Charles…

“He’s such a sweet boy,” her mother interrupts his frantic thinking. “I like him very much. I hope he’ll come by, sometimes. Tell me you’ll invite him again, Schatz?”

*

He sits warily across Logan’s desk the next day at their usual appointment, lighting the cigarette he has rolled while he waited in the lobby, and observes the crazy bear through the smoke he exhales. He’s pawing at the folder Erik starts to know so well, lifting an eyebrow from time to time as he fakes reading it.

“Congratulations,” Logan starts with a wide smile as he snaps the elastic bands shut around the cardboard, “You’re legally an adult now-even if you still can’t drink, though. I’m sure you know what awaits you if you pull another of your stunts.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” Erik scowls, missing the ashtray purposefully when he taps his cigarette with his finger.

Logan snorts and lets one adamantium claw out to push the ashtray a few millimetres to the side, leaving a scrape mark on the cheap plywood panel. “Wouldn’t want a burn mark on such a beautiful desk,” he comments casually. “Anyway.” He throws the folder on top of a huge pile on his right, and it threatens to fall, swaying on its base. “Heard you behave correctly at school. Did you really make some New Year’s resolutions without telling me?”

Erik exhales loudly. It’s going to be a long session.

*

It’s barely over a week before the winter recess, and the weather gets worse, ice tricking his path anywhere he goes, forcing him to walk frustratingly slowly.

His mood sours with it, sending other students away yelping with a scowl, but seeing Charles each morning at the lockers helps him settle a bit. They even manage to exchange a few words calmly most of the time, without it being too awkward.

It takes him two more days after the weekend to realise Charles is fidgeting and jumpy. The dark circles under his eyes are back, giving a haunted look to them, and exhaustion slumps his shoulders. Erik fears he knows why Charles is acting like this. Something to do with the approaching holidays and spending days at home. And it churns at Erik’s stomach just to imagine.

“Charles,” he calls, as the telepath is about to leave the locker room after their still joined gym class. He had been waiting for him, leaned against the wall near the door, his hands tucked under his armpits to keep them warm. Charles hadn’t asked him to stay to help him after his shower last week, but he had anyway, just in case, leaving only when he had felt Charles dress again.

Charles turns around abruptly and looks at him with his eyebrows raised, startled to see he’s still here, Erik guesses. He wonders why Charles sometimes keeps his telepathy so close to him when it could prevent him surprises like this, especially when he’s so lost in his thoughts. He could always be aware of his surroundings, if he wanted to. If he was in full possession of his capabilities. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Charles answers as he gets closer to him, burying his hands as far as possible in his jacket pockets and immersing his nose inside his thick scarf. “What is it?”

Erik looks at him, at the faint traces of the bruise still on his face—Charles doesn’t cover it anymore, but knowing it was there makes Erik see it clearly—at his pinking ears, at his blue eyes, always his blue eyes. He can’t stop himself, observing the fluctuation of their shade under the sun and clouds.

He clears his throat, ending his own silent observation.

“You can come whenever you want. At my place, I mean. Even if the project is over.”

Seeing Charles’ frown, he continues, “If you need a place to crash, to get away from your family.” Erik sighs, looks at his feet. There’s more to say, but it’s hard to formulate. He swallows and raises his head again, looking straight at Charles. “I don’t want you to suffer any of this anymore. And my mother would always be glad to have you. She likes you, you know.”

Erik likes him too, but he doesn’t say it. He can’t. Not when Charles’ safety is at stake.

Charles smiles ruefully, the movement barely lifting his lips. “I’ll be okay, Erik. But thanks. I have your number if I need to.”

He turns around and starts walking toward the school, but something in Erik’s chest tightens, and he catches up with him with the help of his longer strides.

“Do you want to have lunch with me?” he asks casually, looking straight ahead. He just want to see if…

Charles shakes his head in his peripheral vision. “Thank you, but I have to study at the library. I’ll see you later.”

Erik doesn’t argue. Not now.

*

The weekend is practically over when Erik’s phone vibrates on his nightstand. He drops his book on his chest to grab the device. The long vibrations indicate a phone call—and he never receives calls.

Charles’ name flashes on the screen, so he accepts the communication without another thought.

“Charles?” he asks immediately, throat tightening in concern.

There’s only the noise of steps and frantic breathing for a while, and Erik calls his name louder each time, until he finally hears a small, breathless “Erik?”

“Charles? Are you all right? Where are you?”

Erik is up in a flash, already opening the door to his room with his power.

“I’m ah… walking to your place, right now? God I hope it’s okay, you said—”

“Of course it’s okay! I told you it was! Where exactly? I’ll meet you halfway.”

“I asked the driver to drop me at school and I’m walking towards yours, now.”

“Are you hurt?” Erik asks as he puts his jacket over his shoulders.

He hears a shuddered sigh, but Charles continues, “It’s nothing. Compared to what you’ve seen. I promise.”

He’s at the bottom of the steps in a second. “I’m coming up to you. Are you sure nobody’s looking for you?”

“I…” Charles sounds hesitant, “made him forget. The others won’t realise until a day or two, at least.”

Erik is almost running all the way to the school, ignoring the cold burning his throat or the ice making his shoes slip.

When he finally spots Charles, walking slowly on the sidewalk, he sprints to him and immediately slips an arm around his torso to support him.

Charles ends the call on his phone and turns his head, smiling tiredly to him.

“Hey,” he whispers, as all strength seems to leave his body. “Thank you.”

Erik tightens his grip, and they start the journey back to his apartment.

*

Erik tries to hasten their walk, because Charles is barely covered, only wearing one of his cardigans, with no sight of his scarf, but Charles winces softly when Erik tugs him forward a bit too harshly. The night is freezing and he himself isn’t wearing much, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins keeps him from feeling the cold.

They finally stumble into the apartment after struggling with the stairs, and as soon as the door closes, Edie is on them, almost shoving Erik out of the way.

“Oh, Charles, what are you doing here? Are you alright? Gosh you’re freezing, come here, I’ll make tea! We have some leftovers from tonight, too, I’ll reheat it!”

“Mama,” Erik interrupts. “Calm down, you’re overwhelming him!”

“I’m fine, really,” Charles interjects. “Don’t worry about me.”

Edie huffs as she continues dragging him to the kitchen as Erik follows closely.

Charles looks at Erik after she sits him down at the table and starts bustling around, and he seems so exhausted he could fall asleep now and there.

Erik takes the chair next to him, and Charles finds nothing else to do but smile shyly under his scrutiny. Erik doesn’t see anything out of place, but there’s a lot of Charles’ body still hidden under his clothes, and he’ll rest when he’s sure nothing needs immediate attention.

“I’m fine,” Charles whispers, “I promise.”

When Edie comes to the table with steaming mugs in hand, they turn to face her.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Edie…” Charles starts, but Edie cuts him before he apologize even more.

“Nonsense. You’re never bothering me.”

“Charles is going to stay for a few days, Mama,” Erik adds before they start a kindness battle.

“Sure. You make yourself at home, Charles.” His mother agrees.

Erik is relieved. Even if he knows his mother would always open her arms and her home to people in trouble, it’s the first time Erik brings someone, and he was afraid to trespass some line he didn’t know of. He feels a burst of love for the woman who raised him, who put up with him and helped him get out of his personal hell. His cheeks warm, he thanks her, and the brilliant smile she returns him is worth the world.

*

After Charles has refused a second helping of tea and cake and Edie has stopped trying to force-feed him, they move to his room. As soon as the door is closed, Erik asks him to sit on the bed with a movement of his hand.

“Let’s see.”

“Erik,” Charles huffs. “Believe me, it’s nothing. There’s no blood. I escaped before that.”

“I still need to make sure.” He says as he kneels in front of him.

“Fine.”

Charles frees the tail of his shirt from his trousers in the same time as he rises his cardigan.

Charles’ muscles contract when Erik brushes his fingers against his ribs. “It’s sore, that’s all.” He hisses. “My belly, too. But it’ll be fine.”

“It’s going to bruise,” Erik notes, frowning.

But as Charles said, there’s no bleeding, and it helps loosen the tight knot in his stomach.

“You’ll sleep here, I’m going to change the sheets. I’ll leave a towel in the bathroom, too, if you want to take a shower while I do that.”

Charles seems to hesitate, but finally says, “I didn’t think to bring any clothes or toiletries when I left…”

Erik turns to his wardrobe and grabs a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Here you go. I’ll take a toothbrush at work tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Erik. So much.” Charles murmured, voice soft with emotion.

*

Erik prepares the bed while Charles showers, his mind racing. He can’t stop thinking about him, about everything he’s going through, about the fact that this needs to  _ end _ .

The pipes cool down, announcing that Charles has finished showering, effectively getting Erik out of his reverie. Soon, Charles will get out of the bathroom wearing borrowed clothes and a shy expression Erik will never get used to. He chooses to retreat to the living room for now, leaving Charles to settle in his room. He still has a blanket and a pillow to grab for the couch.

Charles is dazzling in Erik’s clothes as he appears next to him a few minutes later, just like the time he was wearing his own turtleneck. The sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, revealing his flat stomach and the protruding bones underneath. There’s a thin line of black hair leading the way from his navel to his groin, that Erik has never noticed before, too preoccupied by the rest. Erik finds himself swallowing around the lump in his throat, wanting something he doesn’t deserve, something he’ll never have again.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks, turning his back on Charles to open the blanket and hide his blush from him, knowing fully he won’t be able to hide his thoughts.

“No, I’ve got everything I might hope for. I wanted to wish you a good night. I... hope you don’t mind getting the couch too much. I could have slept on it, really...”

Erik chuckles but stops soon, surprised he could do just that. Not a dry, sarcastic laugh, but a truly heartfelt one.

“I would have never heard the end of it with my mother, and I’ve slept an awful lot of times on it. It’s comfy enough, don’t worry.”

“Okay...” Charles doesn’t sound convinced. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He turns, leaving Erik with a nice last sight of the two dimples above the curve of his lower back, and disappears in the hall.

*

He’s jostled awake by a sick feeling of panic clutching at his chest, and he sits in a whim, panting.

He wasn’t having a nightmare. He knows he wasn’t. Was he?

His back covers with cold sweat, and it takes a few moments to take his surroundings in. He’s not in his room but in the living room, on the couch, because Charles is sleeping in his bed.

Erik is up and at his door in a second, and the muffled cries he thinks he hears through the panel make him open the door.

Charles is facing the wall, curled against it, but turns abruptly on his back at the noise and quickly wipes his cheeks.

“Erik?” he asks softly, and even if Erik can’t really see him in the dimness of the lamp pouring from the window, he can see his wet eyes lay lost in the city lights, searching for him. He immediately feels Charles enter his head, like a caress, seeking reassurance, and can’t stop a shuddering breath from escaping his mouth at the feeling.

Even his mind is trembling, and it triggers a need to protect in Erik's gut. Moving slowly, he lands his left knee on the bed first, leaving Charles time enough to ask him to get the fuck out, but as he doesn’t make a move, Erik slowly descends to a crouch, and then lies next to him.

He rests on his side, facing Charles, and tries to fit his long legs at the foot of the bed without hitting Charles in the process. Charles is still on his back, but observes him moving around, his head turned on the pillow, hair a dark halo around him.

Erik can hear him swallow and trying to steady his breathing, so he finally settles his head level with Charles’.

They just eye each other in the dark for a while, and Erik is struggling to talk, to find the words to reassure, to comfort, but it’s Charles that makes the first step when he turns on his side and comes closer to him. They’re not touching, but Erik can feel Charles’ breath on the skin of his neck and uncovered torso, and he shivers.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Charles whispers, so close to Erik’s lips he feels the air heating between them, and he would only have to move another centimetre or two to kiss him. Charles’ eyes flutter closed, as if reacting to the thought, but he doesn’t reel back in disgust. Erik’s heart picks up at that, hammering against his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally manages to ask.

“You already know everything that counts. It was just a bad dream.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he whispers, itching to sooth him, and absolutely not wanting to get out.

“No, stay, please.” Charles answers. He grabs Erik’s arm, as if wanting to be sure he’s not going to get up of his bed. His fingers are cold against Erik’s biceps, and they quickly release the pressure against his skin, but he doesn’t want to let them go. Not now. So Erik lands his own hand on Charles’, crossing his arm in a slightly painful way, but seeing Charles sigh and relax just a whim is worth it.

Charles gazes at him once again, eyes searching. He seems to find whatever he needs, because just a second later, he comes closer, resting his brow against Erik’s. His eyelids fall once again, and their noses are almost brushing.

“Can you just hold me for a while?” Charles’ voice is barely audible, and at first Erik doubts what he heard, but he then slides his arm in the space between the mattress and Charles’ neck, bending his elbow to land his hand on Charles’ shoulder. He places his other hand on Charles’ hip, careful not to tighten his fingers.

Charles’ hand, now free from Erik’s, comes to rest on Erik’s heartbeat, and after a while, starts moving slowly, barely perceptible if not for the electric impulses it sends to Erik’s brain.

Erik doesn’t really know what to do, except that he wants Charles’ muscles to relax, so after a while, he mimics the movements with the hand on Charles’ hip, drawing small circles with only the tip of his fingers above the cotton of his shirt.

Charles moves slightly, and they’re not touching each other’s brow anymore, Erik immediately missing the contact, but Charles’ head goes down, and soon it’s tucked under Erik’s chin. The scent of Erik’s shampoo hits his nose as Charles’ long curls slide against his mouth, and as Charles’ arms tighten around him, he does the same. After a few adjustments, they finally settle, bodies moulded against the other, and Erik can press his cheek against Charles’ crown.

His heart beats even faster against his ribcage, having Charles plastered against him, and he thinks he’ll end up staying awake all night, but he automatically syncs his breathing with Charles’ slowing down own, and soon loses consciousness to the night.  
  
.  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order some more fluff?

.

He wakes up to motion against him, simultaneously hit by the cold on his front and pins and needles in his arm. Charles is still sound asleep, but has turned on his back. Erik straightens slightly, frees his arm that he massages for a little while, before his eyes land back on Charles.

His face looks much more peaceful than the previous night. More peaceful than Erik has ever seen him, actually. There’s no lines barring his forehead, no frown furrowing the top of his nose, and his lips are barely open, still so kissably red in the dim pre-dawn light coming from the window. It’s really early, Erik can tell without turning to get a look at his alarm clock. They both lay in the white light, and it shows Charles’ freckles all the more, highlighting them as if he had spent some time under the summer sun.

It dawns on him that he should have paid attention to all these details way earlier, before he too took too much of Charles, using him in the backstage of the school’s theatre. He had only shown the beast inside of him, answering a flesh call without thinking about the consequences. And still, Charles is here, Charles trusts him enough to let him in a five meter radius around him, to let him hug him while he sleeps, to let him care. Erik doesn’t understand why he would do such a thing.

He doesn’t really understand why  _ he _ wants to do it. To take care of Charles. To bring a smile on his face. Because the ones he’s witnessed were few and far apart, shy, self-deprecating smiles, and that Charles deserves so, so much better than that.

It’s been so long since he’s been that much frightened. But when it was for his life, ditched in a gutter after a rough beating, or in the crash that took his father away, it’s different, now. It feels like taking a leap where he can’t see how deep the fall will be.

It’s the fear of wanting so much, so hard, someone, and not deserve them the least.

Hesitant, hands trembling slightly, he caresses Charles’ hairless cheek with the back of his knuckles, and then once again with the tip of his fingers, but he withdraws when Charles’ brows contract faintly, not wanting him to wake up just yet. Charles’ breathe itches a few times before his jaw slackens once again.

Erik turns slowly, landing his feet on the cold ground, and escapes the room before it’s too late.

He’ll be able to get a more thorough training session before leaving for work, at least.

*

He’s showered and sipping his tea on the couch when Charles emerges from his bedroom. As he walks to him, Erik can observe his fill, noting the barely opened eyes, the mess of his hair, unruly strands pointing to the sides.  _ Cute _ , he can’t stop himself from thinking at the sight. But he rapidly reins his wandering thoughts as Charles comes closer to him. He’s about to get up in order to offer him a cup, but Charles joins him on the couch before that, his knee joints creaking when he folds his limbs on the seat.

Rapidly, Erik’s shoulder is taken over by Charles’ head, hair tickling his nose and body heat crossing his shirt to warm his skin and his heart, which immediately picks up.

He feels Charles’ chest expand in a sigh, rolled in a tight ball against him as he is, and Erik frees his arm, earning at first a moan of complaint, but is rewarded by another contented sigh when he drapes the arm around Charles’ shoulders, effectively securing him under his chin.

“I’ll have to leave for work in half an hour,” Erik whispers on the top of Charles’ head. “My mother has left already. But you can stay here and dig through my books or DVDs or whatever.”

Charles seems to curl up a bit more at that, as if refusing the thought in such a childish way Erik shouldn’t find it endearing. “Can’t I go with you?” he grumbles, voice still a bit hoarse from sleep.

Erik takes the time to think about it, because he wouldn’t want to impose on the Davids, but he thinks he can at least try. In the worst case scenario, he’d send Charles back here, but something tells him he’ll know how to charm them into compliance. If he wakes up.

“Only if you’re ready when I leave, then.” He says with mock temper, nudging him slightly with his shoulder.

“Hmm,” is all Charles answers at first, snuggling closer again if it’s even possible. “Just a few more minutes…”

Erik rolls his eyes and resumes drinking his tea with his free hand, the other caressing Charles’ shoulder, adventuring higher and higher until his finger cards repeatedly through brown strands.

*

Erik is amazed by the speed at which Charles drinks his own scalding tea, fifteen minutes later, after a quick change of clothes and some cold water splashed on his face.

“It’s the British genes,” Charles comments, much more awake now, and Erik witnesses a small smirk tugging at Charles’ lips after that, heart-warming once again.

Of course Liora and Adriel accept Charles at once—his angelic face coupled with a few chosen words and the fact that they know him already as a regular customer, and he’s allowed to stay during the whole duration of Erik’s shift.

He’s not even surprised when, not even a couple hours later, Charles has charmed his way to the cash register, where he learns to use it under Liora’s soft gaze.

“I’d like to go get some stuff, afterwards, if it’s okay?” Charles asks timidly during their lunch break across the street. “Clothes, a toothbrush, my computer… If I can still stay with you, though?”

Erik stares at him at first, baffled Charles is still doubting—does he look like he’s going to ask him to stay at home with those bastards? And Charles drops his gaze, straightening his back against his chair and putting a bigger distance between them.

“I’ll understand, of course.”

“No—” Erik starts, surging forward and landing his hand on Charles’ side of the small table. He swallows. “Of  _ course _ you can stay, you idiot! But I don’t even know where you live, and I don’t have a car—”

“We’ll take a cab. It won’t raise suspicions, not as if I made a driver come here without a reason. The drive is long, but I can’t just… depend on you on everything. And you’re not compelled to come with me, of course, but… I figured I could use your mutation to get in and out quickly, you know…”

Erik rolls the idea in his head, pokes it from side to side, considering.

“I suppose you don’t want to use your credit card?” he asks just in case, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t want to give them any indication of where to find me, no. I really don’t like the idea of going there, believe me, but it’s the only solution I have for now. I’ll… think of something else, during the afternoon…”

“No, I’ll go with you,” Erik announces. “No way will I let you go back alone in that place. We’ll figure something out.”

The smile Charles gives him is shy, but its genuineness hits him hard once again.

*

And  _ of course _ Liora tells him with a huge smile, when they come back from lunch, that Charles and he can leave early to spend more time together. She winks at him when she notices the blush on his cheeks.

“I don’t want to leave you with all the work. We can stay until the closing time, as I usually do.”

“Your friend Charles has been really helpful, actually, and I don’t have any more accounts to do for today so I can take care of the register. If you check all the shelves for supplying, it’ll be good. What do you think?”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“We are. Erik, you have to enjoy what you have now, because you deserve it. Don’t worry, if we ever need you to do some extra hours, we’ll ask.”

“Okay,” he finally accepts. The earlier they go to Charles’, the earlier they’ll be out of it.

Charles helps him during the afternoon, keeping an exact chart of what needs to be restocked in the shop, and what needs to be ordered for the next delivery. They’re done pretty quickly thanks to that, and Erik has to accept that having Charles with him not only makes him work faster, but also, and more importantly, way better.

It seems that he can muster a bit more calmness when facing a troubling customer than he’s used to, or that he’s capable of smiling more than once a day—but mostly when his gaze crosses Charles’, and Charles smiles at him first, the corner of his eyes wrinkling slightly. It’s hard to believe.

*

The first taxi that crosses their path in the street stops when Charles waves at the driver, and Erik huffs, thinking about how he would have had to wait if he had tried himself. But he hops inside, following the other boy, and settles while Charles gives the address, somewhere on Graymalkin lane in North Salem.

The driver looks at Charles with eyebrows raised through the rear view mirror. “Do you know it’s a fifty minutes’ drive, at the very least?”

“Yes,” Charles answers firmly, “And you’ll take us back as well. Better get going, then, if you please.”

Maybe Charles uses a bit of persuasion, or maybe not, but the driver turns the “free” signal off and gets off the curb in one smooth movement.

Charles lets his head fall on the headrest and sighs heavily, closing his eyes.

Searching for all his strength, Erik guesses. Every bit of it, in order to face what awaits them there.

Silently, without overthinking it, Erik takes Charles’ closest hand in his, and peers through the window to look at the passing landscape.

*

They keep their fingers intertwined during the whole trip, hands resting in the middle seat, but as soon as they start to follow a smaller way hugging a deep pine forest, Charles tenses up. He drops Erik’s hand to trap both between his jumping thighs, suddenly jittery. Erik observes him, noting the ashen colour of his cheeks, the way his teeth worry his bottom lip.

He wants to tell him that he’s here with him, that he’s not alone. He wants to tell him he’ll protect him from anything that comes across their path. But he doesn’t. He can’t find the strength to make his mouth form the words, as he watches Charles.

But Charles’ mind has caught up with his thoughts, because he turns slightly to him, and even if his lips don’t shape themselves in a smile, his eyes soften just a notch.

The driver stops in front of a massive iron gate, and they get out of the car after Charles has asked him to wait for them,  _ yes _ , with the clock still turning, thank you. Through the gate, Erik can see a long alley, bordered with tall, groomed trees. There’s what looks like a fountain at the end of the walk, and behind it, huge stone walls. Raising his eyes, Erik is struck by the sight of multiple towers. Raven had mentioned a mansion, once, but he certainly wasn’t expecting something this big, this… castle-like.

Behind him, Charles sighs deeply, but this time out of relief. Erik turns to him, finding him with two fingers at his temple, his eyes closed.

“Kurt and Cain are out,” he explains immediately, shoulders visibly relaxing. His eyes open and land on Erik as his hand leaves his face. “Let’s go.”

It takes a whim to work the gate open, its lock and hinges well oiled, and they sneak through the opening before Erik closes it again.

“Follow me, we’ll use the kitchen entrance, it’s closer to my room and hidden from the windows,” Charles says as he takes the lead. Erik walks behind him, eyes searching for any movement around them. They follow the line of the forest, rounding the mansion until they reach the west side, where a small, thick wooden door awaits them.

Once again, Erik picks the lock while Charles checks the minds inside of the building, and soon, they’re circling the massive oak table.

Charles runs his hand on it, an unreadable expression crossing his beautiful face. “I used to eat here with the cooks whenever I wanted, before Kurt came and decided I had to sit at the table in the ballroom with the  _ family _ .”

The name isn’t really spit, but Erik feels the resentment dripping from it. It’s hard for him to understand what Charles has been through, as his parents had always loved him and showed it. But still… he can imagine.

They continue through a corridor covered in thick rugs, where their soles don’t make the barest noise when walking on it. Erik loses the count of doors they pass by, of turns they take, to end up in another hallway, with other paintings hanging on the wall. Without the possibility to follow the pipes running through the walls and the wires coursing under his feet and over his head, he would be lost in this maze. They’ve climbed up two stories when Charles stops abruptly, Erik not fast enough to prevent a collision, albeit much slowly than it could have been.

“What’s go—” he starts, but Charles turns and slaps his hand over Erik’s mouth, eyes wild.

_ Raven’s coming our way _ , Charles sends him, as he searches frantically for an escape route. He surges to a door a few feet ahead of them and jumps on the door, Erik on his heels. It’s once they’re both behind it, now closed again, that Erik lets himself breathe.  _ Did she hear us? _

_ I don’t think so _ , comes Charles reply.  _ But she’s looking for something in the area. I’ll just… hide the door from her mind, and we’ll wait for a bit. But we need to stay silent, I don’t want to use my power on her. _

_ I know _ , Erik instantly replies, trying to calm him. They’re close to each other because they haven’t moved from when they rushed in, and his hand is resting on Charles’ chest, giving him a good idea of the speed of his heartbeat. Charles’ ear is resting against the wood panel, listening to the footsteps across the door, and he seems to want to stay like this, even if he could follow his sister with his mind. So, for now, Erik turns to look at the room they ended up in.

It looks like an office, with a huge desk and a leather chair, two low armchair face to face and multiple wood furniture, but a deserted one—everything is covered with a thick blanket of dust, except for the sofa in the corner near the window and the books in the shelf. As if someone came here to read, to escape the rest of the world. And Erik knows who does that.

He takes a step in the room, getting out of the promiscuity between them, and starts observing with more acuity. There’s a beautiful, gigantic chess set installed on the table between the armchairs. The game has been left unfinished, a black rook and a white knight facing each other defiantly. Running his power and his eyes over the pieces, he notes the presence of silver at the base, under the carved rare wood. Truly a set of exception—an expensive one—just as everything else in here.

_ It’s my father’s study. He taught me how to play with that set _ , Charles says, his inner voice a whisper laced with emotion.

_ I have one at my place. We can play during the week, if you want to, _ Erik answers, hoping to dissolve the sadness. And it seems to work, as Charles raises his eyes to him.

_ Sure. _

They go silent for a moment longer before Charles straightens up and out of the doorway. “She’s gone,” he says with his mouth. “Let’s go to my room and get done with it. The taxi driver is getting restless.”

They resume their journey through the manor in a faster pace, and once in Charles’ room, Erik doesn’t really look at the place. He helps him fill a duffel bag with clothes and toiletries, as Charles goes for his laptop and phone charger. He also throws a thick envelope and his wallet inside of it before closing it, and in a whim, they are out of his room, out of the mansion, out of the yard, and in the taxi.

*

After the dinner is done and everything is washed up, Erik leads Charles to the living room. He digs for the chess set he knows is somewhere in the room. Sadly, it’s nothing compared to Charles’. It’s a cheap one, with a foldable board and pieces made mostly out of plastic, with some fake wood to form the different faces. Not only is it ugly, but it’s also a pain in the ass to play with it, because the lightness of the pieces makes them move with the barest of movement from the supporting furniture, and Erik can’t even control them with his power. Nonetheless, it’s the set his father had bought to teach him to play, once.

It had been a memorable souvenir for Jakob to teach his son, because the set his own father was supposed to give him as a legacy had vanished during the war, and anyway, a German Jew wasn’t supposed to own such things at that time.

It’s the first time Erik touches it since the day of the accident. Not only his mother doesn’t play, but he wasn’t able to face the memory, until now.

It’s weird to rub his now much broader palm over the black and white squares. The pieces don’t feel the same between his fingers, either, but he puts them in their respective place without a doubt, giving the whites to Charles as he settles in front of him on the table.

Charles immediately starts by moving one of his knights, and Erik has to search in his mind for the different strategies, looking for hidden points he must have forgotten since then. It’s been years already.

He throws himself into the game, carding his fingers through his beginning of a beard he would need to shave soon, until his mother comes to stand by him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to bed, loves. Have a good night.” She tells them.

Charles’ smile to her is blinding. “Sure, Edie. Thanks for everything and sleep well.”

Charles wins their first game not long after that, piling the black pieces relentlessly on the side, but Erik immediately asks for a revenge, and he accepts.

Now that their movements are more fluid, more assured, the second game is more vicious. Erik fights with everything he has, and Charles takes more time to choose from one movement to the other.

They’ve also fallen into a playful bickering, sending piques to one another, and Erik is pleasantly surprised by the easiness with which they exchange them.

Charles is radiant in front of him, colours high on his cheeks, blue eyes resplendent even under a poor electric light, shining with joy. His temptress lips almost always stretched into a beautiful smile.

Erik is in awe in front of him, truly, even if he doesn’t show it on his own face. Not only has he discovered a lot about Charles since they really started to  _ talk _ —not just screaming at each other’s face—but it seems that, every time Erik discovers a new expression on Charles’ features, a new aspect of his personality, he’s a little bit more…

“Checkmate,” Charles says, triumphant, cutting effectively the realisation Erik was having.

Erik wrenches his gaze from Charles’ eyes to focus once again on the game. And yes, it seems that his king is cornered by Charles’ few remaining pieces. Shit.

“Okay, I give up.” Erik chuckles, toppling his king over the board in a sign of surrender. “Well done.”

“I guess I’m less rusted than you are,” Charles teases. “It’s late already. Fancy another game another day?”

“Sure,” Erik answers, smirking. “Beware, I’ll beat you.”

“I can’t wait to see that. In the meantime…” Charles rises from his chair and comes standing closer to him, a hip resting against the table. He crosses his arms, looking smug. “I demand a gift from the loser.”

Erik rises in turn, using his height to tower over Charles as he dismissively puts the chess pieces away in the board. “Really,” he says with an arch of the brow. “And what would that be, your Highness?”

Charles’ smugness doesn’t disappear, but he closes his eyes slightly, lifting his head, when he whispers, “Kiss me, Erik.”

.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've been waiting for it - now I hope it'll be satisfying enough!
> 
> From now on, the chapters will be unbetaed, because my American beta is not available right now. RL can be a bitch sometimes. I'll edit things afterward if needed, but as it's not my first language, please feel free to point things out!  
> Edit 12/09/19 (non American): The fic has been totally betaed! Thank you immensely again [Holdt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt)!!

.

 

And he does, god, he does, leaning forward to place his lips on Charles’, without thinking. His heart seems ready to burst, his brain to overdrive. Charles’ arms uncross and a hand comes to rest at the base of Erik’s neck, the other carding through his hair. He himself surrounds Charles’ body, getting him closer until they’re flush together. He feels Charles sigh against his mouth just before a tongue comes to caress his bottom lip, and immediately he parts them to let Charles enter.

It’s the first time they’ve properly kissed, the first time he can truly feel Charles against him, and when, hesitant, Charles hovers at the edge of his mind, Erik greets him eagerly.

It’s unlike anything he has ever done with someone. It’s a thousand times better. A thousand times hotter. He tightens his grip at the small of Charles’ back as his other hand wanders in his curls, enjoying the silken touch of his long strands.

But when Charles all but moans against his mouth, he has to take a step back, breath rapid and irregular.

His hand moves to Charles’ hip, holding him near but also away from his body as he tries to regain his composure. His fingers release Charles’ hair, but keep stroking it.

Charles is flushed all over his face, his neck starts to tint in red, too, and he’s biting his lip once again— it’s so hard to resist the urge to kiss him more.

“Charles…” he breathes, weak at the knees. He closes his eyes and leans forward once again, this time to rest his forehead against Charles’.

He feels Charles’ hands petting him, playing with his short strands, caressing the tender skin just behind his ear with his thumb.

He  _ wants _ to kiss him again. He  _ wants _ so much. But he refrains. It would be using Charles for his own desires, just like he did the first time they touched each other. And it’s not something he can do, not anymore. Not with… what he feels.

“It’s… It’s getting late. I need to sleep, I…” he starts.

Is it disappointment he reads in Charles’ expression?

“Sure, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Charles’s smile is tentative, now, as much as the kiss he leaves at the corner of Erik’s mouth before departing.

Erik sighs and turns to his makeshift bed. He’s more than awake. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, and he’s so damn  _ hard _ it’s almost painful.

He realises belatedly he’s palming himself through his jeans, and stops abruptly, ashamed. Charles will hear that. And Erik doesn’t want him to feel objectified once again. Never again.

He hurries to change into his sweatpants and goes to brush his teeth while Charles is still in his room, willing his arousal gradually down, and buries his long body under the blanket once he’s lying down on the couch.

Erik then listens to Charles’ movements in the bedroom and the bathroom until the light goes off under his door. He closes his eyes, starts to count backwards from a hundred, but finds himself invaded by memories, sensations, of their shared kiss.

Heart beating painfully hard, he realises that he has messed their whole relationship up from the beginning, from that time he took Charles in the backstage room without even a glimpse of kindness. They are supposed to  _ share _ those kinds of things. Not just to take for themselves, no matter how the other feels.

He’s a fucking creep.

*

Getting ready for work is all the more painful the next day, as he hasn’t slept much, his brain constantly playing the memory of the backstage room to him, worsening it every time.

His workout wakes him up a bit, but he’s still morose when Charles emerges from his room, hair still askew and eyes barely open.

Erik feels a pang of guilt and dread, and diverts his eyes to his mug of black coffee. Charles’ own tea is brewed already, sitting on the coffee table and steaming, but Charles doesn’t even look at it. He drops on the couch and, the same as the previous day, rests his head on Erik’s shoulder, but this time, as he hums of contentment, he leaves his hand on Erik’s thigh, too. Erik’s jaw clenches as he tries not to run away from the touch.

“If I asked you to kiss me, Erik, it’s because I wanted you to,” Charles’ sleepy voice pierces through the silence, hammering him in place with its full force. “And it’s the same for last time. If I didn’t want that too, I wouldn’t have participated. It’s supposed to be a shared experience, as you say yourself. Believe me just for a bit, would you?” He yawns afterwards, as if saying so many words just after waking up has exhausted him.

Erik stays silent, mulling it over. How could it be possible that Charles still wants something to do with him?

“Erik, darling, stop.” Charles straightens up and turns to him, cupping Erik’s jaws with his hands to make him look at Charles. “You’re thinking way too hard.” He kisses him once. “I  _ want  _ this.” He kisses him once again. “I want  _ you _ .” Another kiss on his lips. “I… have feelings for you, and I want to be with you, even with what already happened between us.” A last lingering kiss, and Erik finally closes his eyes to appreciate it fully—to hide the moisture in his eyes, too. “And I know you’ll do everything it takes to make amends,” Charles finishes, his voice more playful this time.

So Erik circles Charles’ shoulders with his arm and draws him closer, kissing all of his relief on his cherry-red, lovely lips, until Charles squirms and laughs and tries to free himself. Cheering up, Erik doesn’t let him go from his embrace, but follows him until they’re both more or less lying uncomfortably on the couch. Caressing Charles’ side, he leans up and nuzzles at his neck, barely brushing the skin until Charles shivers.

“As much as I would like to continue that argument,” Charles’ posh voice laughs, his throat vibrating under Erik’s lips. “We need to get ready if we don’t want to be late…?”

One last kiss, and Erik gets out of Charles’ arms, sitting back up on the couch. Charles does the same, trying to straighten his shirt and running a hand in his unruly hair, barely making it looking better. Erik grabs Charles’ mug and gives it to him as he chugs the cool remnants of his coffee.

*

Erik is fairly exhausted when they go back home from an uneventful day of work, his lack of sleep already kicking him on the shins. He still takes upon himself to prepare dinner because for once, they’re home before his mother.

Charles helps him, and they work in a tandem without so much as adjustments, Charles falling easily into step and managing to find utensils. He’s been playful and generally radiant all day, and it has been hard for Erik not to just grab him whenever their paths crossed in the store to kiss him senseless. And judging by the looks Charles had thrown his way, he had felt the same.

It is a strange feeling, wanting to be entangled with someone else, like this. To want to brush fingers and lips anytime possible. To keep them company. To make them laugh. It’s something Erik has never felt before, in his loneliness. And he supposes it’s the same for Charles, who’s always surrounded by his friends, but never so open.

*

Edie’s smile when she arrives, smelling the cooking food, is so fond Erik feels his cheeks heat up. He’s a bit proud to be able to let her just sit at the table to enjoy the evening, for once.

They enjoy the dinner together, Edie cheered up by Charles’ and Erik’s stories of the day, and afterwards she retreats to her room to continue reading her book before going to sleep.

Facing Erik’s tiredness, Charles suggests watching a movie on his laptop, and it has the wonderful promise of lying on the bed together, so even if Erik is not sure to be able to follow the plot of whatever film they’re going to put on, having Charles all against himself once again will be pleasant enough.

*

Erik spreads on his bed as Charles sits at the foot, turning his laptop on. They’ve managed to install it on Erik’s nightstand, leaving them all the space they could need to lie down comfortably.

“What do you want to watch?” Charles asks as he turns his shoulders to look at Erik. “I have a bunch of films. Some action maybe? There’s this film that’s been waiting for a while, but I don’t really know what it’s worth, though.”

“Sure, whatever you want is fine.”

“You won’t follow much of it, am I right?” Charles laughs.

“You’re right,” Erik yawns, rubbing his face with both his hands to stretch his skin and try to wake up a bit.

“That’s fine, don’t worry,” Charles says as he crawls next to him, the movie starting behind him.

In an instant, Erik finds himself with his arms full of one Charles Xavier, as he comes to rest his head on his pectoral, a hand snaking around Erik’s torso.

Charles sighs and kisses the cotton under his cheek once before turning a bit more to the screen in front of them, and Erik reciprocates by landing his own lips on the top of Charles’ head.

Already, rifles empty their chargers—and send much more bullets than they’re supposed to be into walls and bad guys—but, as planned, Erik doesn’t really watch the romanticized action. He’s already lost in the sensation of having Charles against him. Not a sobbing, hurt Charles that needs comfort. A willing, hugging Charles. And the difference is huge.

He tightens his embrace around Charles’ shoulders, just because he  _ can _ , and Charles responds with a caress from his hand just under Erik’s ribs, making him shiver under his shirt.

He’s starting to get aroused, having Charles so close to him, so pliant in his arms, and he shifts minutely to hide his growing discomfort, but really, hiding this kind of thing from a telepath who is basically draped over him is close to impossible.

It isn’t missed, as Charles lifts his head from his shoulder just an instant later, smiling knowingly at him.

“Is the film fascinating enough to effectively wake you up, or…?” The bastard  _ smirks _ as his eyes shine with laughter.

“Shut up,” Erik answers grumpily, shoving Charles lightly by the shoulder.

“I know Keanu Reeves is hot, so I totally understand, you know,” Charles continues. “Especially in that suit —”

But Erik lurches forward, turning at the same time in order to pin Charles under him, straddling his hips and sitting on his thighs to prevent him from ejecting him.

Charles  _ laughs _ , the bastard, and tries to grab him by his shirt, but Erik fends the hands off, capturing them and pinning them on both sides of Charles’ head.

“I don’t give a single  _ fuck _ about Keanu Reeves and his fucking suit,” Erik growls over him, tightening his grip on Charles’ wrist.

“Really? I don’t understand, then, what’s gotten into you,” Charles fucking  _ teases _ him.

Erik leans forward, getting closer to Charles’ face and putting their pelvis in contact.

It’s Charles’ turn to shiver, whole-bodily.

“No,” Erik continues, grinding slightly against Charles’ own arousal tenting his trousers. “I don’t know either, really. Maybe it has something to do with you.”

They’re so close now, the barest of whispers caresses the other’s lips, and it’s Erik’s turn to smile wolfishly to the boy trapped under him.  _ A shark’s _ , his smile is usually referred to—scary as fuck. But Charles’ pupils, already enlarged, blow up, nearly taking over the blue.

“I haven’t done anything, Sir, I swear!” Charles mimics a frightened voice, smile blinding.

Erik straightens back, freeing Charles’ wrists and landing his long hands on each side of Charles’ breast bone as he moves his hips slightly.

“If you’re innocent, then… I’ll leave you to it.” He professes to get up, but Charles surges forward, circling his neck with his arms to pull Erik with him as he falls back on the bed.

“Don’t…” Charles whispers against Erik’s lips, and suddenly they’re kissing, with teeth and tongues and  _ intent _ . Charles whimpers against Erik’s mouth afterwards, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as he tosses his head against the pillow, a sight to behold, something that Erik needs to keep in his memory.

Erik uses the movement to get to Charles’ neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin, getting up and down the tower of his throat, from the beginning of his collarbone to the small place just behind his ear. He stretches his legs out, covering Charles with his whole body and supporting his weight on his forearms, hands tucked in Charles’ hair.

Charles’ own hands are circling Erik’s waist now that they are pressed flush, and one of them snakes under the hem of Erik’s shirt, lifting it as it trails upwards in a caress that leaves a path of fire under Erik’s skin.

“Get that off,” Charles orders, tugging at the piece of cloth, and Erik wants to, but he’s reluctant to leave Charles’ embrace. With one last kiss on Charles’ tempting lips, he sits back on his haunches and removes it in one swift movement.

“You too,” he manages to whisper, glad that Charles isn’t wearing one of his long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt, but still one of Erik’s turtlenecks. He grabs the hem as Charles contracts his abs and raises his torso just high enough for Erik to remove the piece of garment.

He immediately runs his fingers over Charles’ hot skin, covering his torso with caresses. He’s seen it before, sure, but he hasn’t had the chance to touch it. It’s beautiful. Sobering. He takes his time, tracing each white line he can land his eyes on. Bending in half, he kisses one mark on Charles’ breast, just over his heart.

Charles’ fingers straightaway find his hair, scrape against his skull. Erik goes back up and kisses him once again, their mouths slotting languidly, perfectly together. Erik grinds smoothly against Charles, their still-trapped cocks aligned, and they both exhale raggedly.

“Can I…” he asks as one of his hands trail downwards, to Charles’ fly.

“Yes,” Charles almost sobs in return. “Please—”

Erik doesn’t bother with clumsy fingers. He opens both trousers with an expectant thought.

Removing them demands that they move, and Erik wants that to be over sooner rather than later, so he stands, gets his trousers, pants and socks out of the way in quick succession, before closing his fists around Charles’ belt and doing the same as Charles rises his hips dutifully to help him.

Erik’s breath is taken away by the sight of Charles, splayed fully naked on his own bed, waiting for him.

Charles watches him, too, eyes eager, almost feverish. Erik can’t wait any longer, and joins Charles on the bed. Behind them, the shooting continues, barely a background noise, completely forgotten.

Charles welcomes him, arms wide open, cock stiff, and Erik kneels between his open legs to look his fill. He’d never have enough of this.

His hands climb from Charles’ knees to his hips, tanned skin and black line stark against the milk of Charles’ delicate flesh. He’s hypnotised by the feeling under his calloused palm, by the sight of Charles’ face, eyes fluttering close and lips parted, his dark pink tongue making appearances to moist them. Charles’ hands tighten around fistfuls of Erik’s sheet, biceps clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

It’s easy to get his hands from Charles’ sides to his front, to caress his lower abdomen, following the slight abs and the trail of dark hair underneath, until his right one finds Charles’ cock. It’s like stroking velvet, hot and smooth.

It’s even easier to close his fist around Charles’ shaft and to start stroking it. The moans it elicits from Charles are positively sinful, and he feels something tugging at him, something demanding that he kiss Charles right the fuck now, and so he does, bending in half and resting all of his weight on his left hand as the right keeps its motion on Charles’ demanding cock.

“Erik—” Charles starts, breathless already.  _ Can I…? _

“Yes,” Erik whispers against Charles’ lips, and it’s like a dam shattering and flooding his mind. Charles is everywhere, and where Erik should feel overwhelmed, he rejoices. It’s like sharing the same mind, the same body. He thinks he’s never felt anything like this, and he feels stupid to think that. Of course it’s never happened to him, because he’s never gotten close to a telepath, all the more from one as powerful as Charles seems to be.

He feels the ghost fingers of his own hand on his shaft, stroking it, and he’s sharing Charles’ air, Charles’ feelings, Charles’ thoughts.

And he knows Charles’ hand is coming to him without even seeing it. He’s plucking the idea from Charles’ mind directly, and yet, he can’t quite shut the gasp of pleasure escaping from his lungs down when it happens.

They stroke each other in unison, picking from the other’s mind what they like best, and soon they’re both panting heavily, mouths still so close. They’re so lost in the pleasure building, a current slowly rising from their spines, that they don’t even find the strength to properly kiss now.

A couple more massages and Charles is coming under Erik’s palm, and the explosion of pleasure gets him too, spilling over both their hands and Charles’ abdomen.

Breathless, he topples to the side, still conscious enough of his environment not to crush Charles under him, and they both try to get their breath back into control, resting side to side on the pillow. Charles turns his head to gaze at Erik, and Erik feels once again a pang of  _ something _ crushing his heart. Charles is radiant. He still feels him in his mind, but in quiet waves now, gently swaying with their pulse.

Erik takes a moment to observe Charles’ face, still not believing it’s happening, and after that, he moves slightly forwards to seal their lips together.

They’ll have to move to clean up eventually, but for now, he’s perfectly happy lying there, so close to Charles.

*

They stand up a few moments later, as the semen on their hands and Charles’ belly dries, and Erik leads Charles to the bathroom so they can clean up, sharing lazy kisses in between.

And finally, they tumble in bed together, knees weak and laughing slightly, falling asleep together.

.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the comments are more than welcome - They're concentrated life juices, and I don't know how I'm supposed to survive after I've finished posted those chapters, guys. You are all amazing readers and I love you dearly.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to tell you once again how much I love you all! You are feeding me life with your comments ♡  
> Hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!

.

 

Erik wakes up the following morning feeling a bit more rested than the previous day. Charles is still glued to him, heating him like a furnace, but surprisingly awake.

“Hey,” he murmurs, nuzzling Charles’ nose in an affectionate gesture—something he would have never guessed he would be doing one day, _showing affection_ —before kissing the tip of it.

“Hey,” Charles answers as he stretches himself, sighing happily. His hand comes back to Erik’s torso, caressing him with the tip of his fingers.

Erik does the same, moving his broad palm on the expanse of Charles’ back, heating his cooling skin where the sheets aren’t covering him anymore.

They hadn’t dressed before going back to bed last night, and having Charles flushed like this at his side certainly doesn’t convince him to get up right now. He turns his head on the other side to look at his clock—but the nightstand isn’t there anymore, because it’s still at their feet, with Charles’ computer, which is blinking, still on.

He summons his phone to him, not wanting to separate from Charles, to look at the hour. And he’s surprised to find out that it’s fairly early—almost an hour before his usual time.

Charles groans besides him. “Don’t tell me it’s time to get up,” he says, burying his head in Erik’s neck, making him shiver with small kisses.

“Actually, not at all,” he answers, dropping his phone and turning fully to Charles in order to kiss him thoroughly, sliding his arms under Charles’ neck and over his hip to hold him. “We can stay here, my alarm doesn’t go off until an hour or so.” He whispers between kisses.

“Wonderful,” Charles says, eyes heavy lidded and body compliant. “Time enough.”

“Enough for what?”

Charles seals their lips once again as his hand answers for him, trailing down to Erik’s morning erection. Erik gasps at the touch, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Fuck me,” he all but blurts out against Charles’ lips. “No, wait, I haven’t got anything in here—” Disappointment is breaking his mood fast—he had thought about that, while falling asleep the previous night, but had forgotten until now. He starts mentally checking what could be used, if he has condoms still useable.

“I have.” Charles interjects.

Erik turns his gaze and his attention to Charles, surprise cutting his thoughts. “What?”

“I have condoms and lubricant. I bought them yesterday,” Charles says, cheeks heating up under the scrutiny.

“What?” Erik repeats, incredulous.

“Yes…” Charles starts, visibly losing his confidence. “I thought that maybe… If we wanted to… It was better to be prepared, you know? Did I overstep a boundary?” he asks, red from embarrassment now.

Erik looks at him silently before surging forward and kissing him with all his intent. When he retreats, they’re both a little bit breathless. 

“It’s perfect,” he says, petting Charles’ hair and admiring him closing his eyes under the touch. “You’re perfect,” he adds in a murmur, before kissing him once again, more tenderly, settling in a slower, sweeter pace.

It all bundles up from that point, and soon, Erik finds himself on his elbows and knees, panting as Charles preps him thoroughly. Once again, they’re connected through their minds, sharing the experience in a level so deep it’s breathtaking. Charles has learned it’s the first time Erik does that, being taken, as his previous sexual relationships were only driven by hatred and selfishness—a mirror of what happened between them that first time, and Erik knows Charles is committed in making everything as pleasurable as it’s supposed to be. And truly, it is, because he’s panting and already wanting to come so badly, and Charles only has two lubed fingers inside of him, massaging his prostate ruthlessly.

He grunts when Charles adds a third, but the stretch is rapidly forgotten over the new sensations coupled with the languid kisses Charles sprinkles all over his back, tongue following black lines and playing with colours between his shoulder blades.

“Now, Charles, please,” he pants as his body tries to follow the movements of Charles’ unrelenting hand, trying to chase his pleasure.

“It’s okay, darling,” Charles answers, his free hand giving soothing caresses all over his flanks as he removes his fingers. Another kiss lands in the small of Erik’s back, before he hears Charles tearing a condom packet and opening the lube bottle once again.

Charles aligns his cock with Erik's entrance, and Erik takes a deep breath before turning to nod at Charles, ready. Charles reaches around Erik's hips with one hand to stroke his cock as he enters him, and the double sensation makes Erik shiver in pleasure.

Charles’ voice in Erik's head is a litany of _yes darling so good you’re so good god I can’t believe-_ and soon he's fully inside of Erik and starts moving in a long, slow rhythm. Erik doesn’t wait long before moving his hips, rocking back and forth between Charles’ cock and hand, and they settle at a more rapid pace that affects them both, getting them closer to their release. Erik’s arms are trembling, and he drops his torso on the pillow, head bent to the side, changing the angle. He groans at that, and Charles’ hand that was resting on his hip slides on his back and grips Erik's shoulder, giving himself more power to slam inside of him, the rhythm erratic but just what Erik needs to get off—the next second, he's coming hard on his sheets, momentarily blinded by the explosion in his brain and abdomen.

Charles whimpers as he feels him tumbling over the edge, and he frees Erik's spent cock to drape himself fully over his back. Barely two more thrusts and he's coming too, forehead resting between Erik's shoulder blades.

It feels like coming all over again, riding Charles’ orgasm with him, stealing his breath away.

Charles manages to straighten up on trembling limbs and pulls out of him, leaving him without any physical contact and feeling like someone had wrenched a part of him. He collapses on the bed, following Charles with bleary eyes as he gets up to throw the condom in the trash under Erik's desk.

Charles is swaying when he comes back to Erik, but he's smiling, and Erik turns to the side, back against his wall, to welcome him in his arms.

Charles crawls on the bed and into Erik's embrace, sighing contentedly as he takes Erik's right arm between his hands and kisses the inside of Erik's biceps, over the tattooed snake's body that circles it. Erik watches him observe the lines, lets him turn his arm both ways to follow them, lets him follow it with caressing fingertips.

“I’ve always wanted to know more about them...” Charles wonders, eyes still on Erik's arm. “What each of them means. How you managed to get them. That kind of thing.”

His fingers follow the snake from its tail to its gaping mouth, interrupting their trail up Erik’s biceps each time they need to make another tour. Venom leaks from its fangs as it’s ready to bite the bloody Pittsburgh’s _P_ , its blood-red eyes shining with intent.

“That’s the one they gave me when I joined them—the gang. I was thirteen. They usually don’t bother with something that big, but I asked for it. I needed the physical pain, and I have been served. I wasn’t prepared for something like this, not that young. And they held me while I cried and bucked. Until my body surrendered and accepted the pain. No one laughed at me. They respected me, I guess.”

Charles nods as his hand trails over Erik’s elbow, now following the black letters caressing the snake’s body. _Peace was never an option_.

His eyes are focused and his brow creased, so Erik kisses his forehead as an answer.

Charles continues, trailing down to the word _Rage_ , underlined by the fateful date of _19.08.2012_ —the day he lost his father to this horrible car crash.

He knows Charles won’t ask any more questions out loud; he feels him following the memories his fingers resuscitate in Erik’s head, and he’s glad for it. Easier. He welcomes Charles with a warm wave of gratitude. Charles understands why Erik needed that inked under his skin. The momentary pain a way to grieve, to get on with his life. A reminder of why he was doing all those horrible things with those horrible people he barely knew and trusted even less. The skull just before his wrist he has done because he liked the design, and it fitted well there.

Charles’ fingers come to rest on his broad hand, following the numbers tattooed there. _219782_. His grandfather had received those numbers when he had been deported to Auschwitz, reaping him of his humanity. His wife had never been found, when the military had opened the gates to their own Hell on Earth. When Erik had met his grandfather, years and years later, as he was barely more than a toddler and the man was approaching 90 years of life on this planet, the first thing that hit him was the depthless sadness in his eyes. It never left his features until the day he died, a few years later, when a true smile breached his parchment-like skin, convinced he’d see his long-lost lover beyond.

Erik, still young, had told his crying mother his grandfather was finally happy. Her face had made something funny he didn’t really understand in that moment, something mixed between a sob and a smile.

His family had been parked like cattle because of their religion. He was judged because of his mutation. So he had wanted to show it here, where it couldn’t be hidden, for everyone to see, laced around a stylish _M_.

Finally, Charles intertwines their fingers to bring Erik’s knuckles to his lips. He kisses each letter forming the word _PROUD_.

Erik takes the back of Charles’ skull in his free hand and lifts him to kiss properly. Charles’ tongue is quick to join his own, but the kiss dies down on its own, finishing in slow, closed-lip caresses.

Charles straightens up on his elbow, now towering over Erik, and starts the expedition on Erik’s left arm from his hand. There are just some angry, fat lines on that one that go from his wrist to his shoulder blade like ugly black and red brushstrokes. They were initially meant to make him endure the pain of the process in a stupid attempt at _brutal black_. Now he just thinks of them as scars he’s left on his own body—scars he is glad to show off, because he’s got them fighting.

On the left side of his neck, two more that were given to him during his years inside the gang— _Magneto_ , the nickname they gave him because of what he could do, and the three dots above it, forming a triangle. _Mi vida loca_.

He’s got some more, but those are the ones that really define him. Or, more like his younger self. The one he left behind in Pittsburgh.

“Do you want to have more?” Charles whispers as he now caresses Erik’s pectoral, following its curve to his nipple. Erik shivers, relishes in the feeling of rightness.

“Yes. Legally, this time. I already have ideas…”

He belongs here, moulded around Charles’ frame. Even if he doesn’t believe one second he deserves any of that.

 

*

 

When Erik's alarm goes off just a few moments later, he’s got notifications from Raven on his screen. Opening the thread, he’s taken aback by the succession of quick texts.

_Charles is gone_ , she says first. _My father is so furious he screamed at Cain_.

_His school bag is missing, just checked_.

_Do you know where he is?_

_I know you're closer now._

_Tell me._

_Please Erik. It's getting wild in here._

_Kurt just hit Cain wtf!_

_Locked in my bedroom. Didn’t need to go out anyway. Homework is fine._

_Could you answer any day soon? Hank and Alex haven't heard from him the entire holidays._

_I hate to say it, but I’m worried, Erik._

 

They were all sent at some point the day before, the first one at the end of the afternoon, and the last few ones with more space between them, way after dinner. She had finally expressed her worry at two in the morning.

At least he knows she was safe for the evening. In the mess of Charles’ departure, those two bastards who are supposed to be his family turned against each other and not on her, and that’s kind of a relief, knowing Cain used to nag her too. He stays silent for a while, thumb hovering over the keyboard, before Charles sits next to him to see what’s got Erik stopped in the middle of getting up.

Erik gives him his phone so he can read. “Can I tell her you’re okay? She will never leave me alone otherwise.”

Charles is biting his bottom lip pensively, eyes following the thread once again. “Yeah, sure. It doesn’t matter.”

Erik wraps his arm around Charles’ naked shoulders. “ _You_ matter.” He kisses his temple. “And you’ll have to tell her, eventually…” he starts, knowing perfectly it’s not his place to do so. He’d hate to have someone telling him what to do, even if they weren’t wrong.

“I know,” Charles sighs. “Believe me, I know.”

Erik doesn’t want to get Charles in a sour mood now, so he starts typing his answer one-handed, and caresses Charles’ upper arm with the other.

_Calm the fuck down. He’s fine, so just stay out of your family’s path._ He sends back to Raven before tossing the phone on his pillow.

“Come here,” he tells Charles, nudging him until he sits sideways on Erik’s lap. He kisses Charles’ temple once again, stretching his neck to reach high enough, then his cheekbone, then the angle of his hairless jaw, his own stubble scratching against the smooth skin. Charles starts squirming when he reaches the side of his throat, and laughs openly a while later, and that’s what Erik was aiming for. Charles is fighting his grip around his body, but Erik doesn’t let go, and Charles is wheezing soon, trying to laugh and escape Erik’s arms at the same time.

“I get why you train every morning, I get it! Let me go!” he pants as Erik tickles him ruthlessly.

But he stops suddenly, and with only a shared gaze, Charles wraps his arms around Erik’s neck and they kiss languidly, until Charles’ heartbeat goes back down to normal. Then, Erik wrenches his mouth from Charles’ to trail down his clavicle, following a path of beautiful freckles to the point of his shoulder. He rests his forehead against him, groaning. 

“I’ll skip it today, but we still need to shower and get ready.” His hands follow their own path on Charles’ ribs, feeling each bump and hollow, before settling over his hips.

“Yes, Mister Tall, Dark and Handsome.” Charles answers, to which Erik retaliates with a pinch of his fingers.

 

*

 

There’s another text on his phone when he gets it back after a shower, a coffee and another cuddle on the couch. They’ve somehow managed not to be late, so he takes the time to open it as Charles ties his shoes.

_How do you know? Have you seen him? Is he with you? I hope he’s not a pain in the ass…_

That last sentence is so uncalled for it angers him. She doesn’t know a damn fucking thing of her brother’s hell of a life, and she thinks she’s allowed to say such things—Charles raises his head to look at him questioningly. So Erik focuses on his breathing once again, in order not to crush the glass of his phone under his thumbs. It has been a while since the last time. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Charles is standing next to him when he opens his eyes again, looking slightly anxious. 

“It’s okay,” Erik manages. “She’s just so infuriating sometimes, when she doesn’t do it on purpose.”

Charles’ hand on his arm and a few deep breaths have managed to tamper on his anger, and so he answers one last time before leaving the apartment for the day, _I’ve invited him, thank you. Now get back to your usual ‘I don’t care about him’ state, would you?_

Seeing that she hasn’t answered as they reach the store, he thinks that she’ll finally leave him— _them_ —alone. At least for now. He just hopes she’ll take his advice into account and stay the hell away from her dear family.

 

*

 

It’s Monday morning before either of them can see it coming, and they have to leave for school once again, bag on their shoulders, scarfs knotted around their throats, gloved fingers intertwined.

The previous days have passed in a rush, mixed between work and time with Edie and homework—but what counts the most are the moments they’ve spent together, either curled up on Erik’s bed, watching a movie or talking idly or trying to silence their laughter when it was too late—or too early—to wake his mother up. They haven’t really talked about Raven again, but he knows it’s in the front of Charles’ mind. He’s tensed and fidgety since this morning, and his tea mug had almost slipped from his fingers twice before Erik came and put a soothing hand on Charles’ nape, unmoving first, but starting to draw circles that ended up in a skull massage.

It had been better by the time Erik shaved and Charles observed with rapt attention the straight razor sliding on its own against Erik’s jaw.

“Why don’t you keep the beard?” Charles had asked at that moment. “It suits you.”

Erik had watched him with the corner of his eyes, trying not to smile.

“Is it because you’d love to grow the same one? Is it disguised jealousy?”

Charles had snorted. “ _Please_. I’m afraid mine wouldn’t be so… furnished, anyway.”

Erik had swept a finger on the shaving foam covering his cheek before wiping it on Charles’ nose, to his utter amazement.

When they had stopped laughing, Erik had simply said, “I’m scary enough already, don’t you think? I don’t need to add a beard to everything else. But one day, maybe.”

 

*

 

It’s remarkable how having his locker under Charles’ doesn’t bother him anymore. How anything about Charles being close to him doesn’t bother him anymore, actually.

They’re not touching now that his hands are busy, but Charles stays with him instead of going straight to their shared English class, and they share a few whispers as the world continues its course around them.

Charles’ head whips to the side a few minutes later, and that’s how Erik spots Raven, standing rigid at the entrance of the corridor. She’s looking at them, features seaming to hesitate between shock and rage as her eyes jump from Charles to him repeatedly.

Charles’ back and shoulders are ramrod straight when she starts walking—stomping—in their direction, hitting someone in the shoulder without even noticing their complaint.

“ _You_ ,” she starts, pointing a finger at Charles when she reaches them. “We need to talk. Seriously.”

Erik is ready to jump in, but is cut by a well-timed ring announcing the start of the day. Charles exhales, deflating visibly.

“Hi, Raven,” he hesitates. “At lunch, would that be good?”

She seems to be surprised to get an answer at all, taking a few openings and closings of her mouth before she can stutter a “Sure. Library entrance,” before leaving them abruptly.

Well… That was certainly something. Erik claps Charles gently on the shoulder and takes the lead for their class.

 

*

 

Charles stays pensive during the full period, scribbling notes on his notebook at some point, when MacTaggert starts staring a bit too much, right foot restless and fingers losing themselves a lot in his thick hair, leaving it askew.

Erik ends up dragging him to the nearest boy’s restrooms at recess, melting the door’s bolt on his way in.

He drops both their bags and the floor and brackets Charles’ head between his hands.

“It’s going to be okay,” he starts, focusing on Charles’ eyes, not letting him look away. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll explain why you did what you did, and she’ll understand.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Charles finally asks, his voice so small, so unassured.

Erik comes to rest their brows together, closing his eyes. “She will. Just like I did. I promise.”

Charles’ breath is shaky, but his hands come to rest on Erik’s wrists, clasping them, anchoring himself.

“I won’t stay far, if you want. You’ll just have to call me, and I’ll be there, okay?” Charles nods against his forehead. “She doesn’t understand, but she will. She’s as lost as you are, you know. You’ll be perfect.”

Another nod, another brief tightening of Charles’ fingers around his wrists, and Erik kisses him, sealing their mouths together and quickly opening his own to caress Charles’ sinful lips with his tongue. Charles complies with a small moan, giving in, resting his weight against Erik’s frame, literally melting under Erik’s focus.

Erik savours the kiss as if it weren’t real—he’s still not used to the idea that he _can_ kiss Charles—but ends it soon after, because it’s not really the point of getting Charles in here, alone with him, no matter how tempting.

Charles opens his eyes a second later, and Erik can see the blown pupils retract with the light, the vivid cerulean of his eyes taking its rights back. It’s like diving into a pool of water so clear it’s almost turquoise every time he comes close.

His hands free Charles’ head, but one starts petting his hair, the other leaving tender brushes over Charles’ cheek, where the ecchymosis has completely disappeared, following the bow of Charles’ upper lip before tracing it with the tip of his fingers.

“You’ll be perfect,” he repeats slowly, and he puts as much vehemence in his voice as in his thoughts. “ _You’re_ perfect. You’ll manage.”

Charles nods shyly, barely moving his head.

“You gonna be okay?” Erik asks one last time.

“Yeah,” Charles answers, still timid. “Yeah,” he repeats, more confident.

 

.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's still coming and commenting :)

.

Erik is chain-smoking in front of the school, propped up against the concrete wall after lunch. Without Raven to rub him the wrong way as she always do, it had only been a question of minutes to finish eating, and since then, he’s waiting to hear from either one of the siblings, trying to stay patient and calm.

The only thing slowing him down is the time it takes to roll another cigarette with the chill seeping through his fingers—thank fuck the sun is out, at least, heating his coat just a bit more with its rays.

He’s about to light his remnant of cigarette—rolled ones always end up dead before the end of the tobacco—when he spots long blond hair stomping in his direction—Raven’s face is red, and it seems to turn blue and back to peachy in the blink of an eye, as if she weren’t able to control her mutation.

She’s on him in a few strides, and even with his well-honed reflexes, he can’t avoid her hand when it crashes on his cheek.

“Erik you  _ bastard _ !” She screams at him.

And when he looks back at her, the moisture on her cheeks prevents his body from counterattacking. Fat tears roll down her face, her cheeks blotched with red spots. He captures her wrists in his hands before she can strike again.

“How could you  _ not _ tell me?” she cries, and she fights his restrains, tries to break free, to hit him with her tight fists. “How could you look me in the eyes all this time and not tell me?” Her voice breaks, and she subsides progressively, letting her sobs taking over her wrath. Soon she leans into Erik, crying openly, and he has to wrap her in his arms to make sure she doesn’t collapse.

He doesn’t really know what to do with her, so he does something that soothes her brother; he pets her hair, passes a calming hand on her back in slow motions until she gradually sobers up.

“I hate you,” she murmurs, muffled in his scarf. She straightens up and, within a few seconds, she manages to look him in the eye, still sniffling. She wipes angrily at her cheeks to remove any remnant of her downfall, breathing raggedly. “And I’m a fucking monster. How could I do that to him?” she covers her face with her hands, trying to suppress another pitiful sob.

Erik’s stomach is clenched, his throat constricted. He clears it before landing one of his useless hands on her shoulder. “You didn’t know. You  _ couldn’t _ know.”

She lifts her head to look at him and he’s suddenly submerged by the same wet blue set of eyes as Charles’. “What matters now,” he continues, soldiering on, “is what you’re going to do. What  _ we _ are going to do, you and I.”

Her features turn to a scowl immediately. “Kill Cain, I guess. Oh god I left him alone with that bastard so many times, and I moved to the other side of the mansion, and—”

“Raven, stop.” He cuts her as she starts heaving again. “We’ll talk about that later. Where is Charles now?”

She looks stricken by his question, looking around them. “I… don’t know. Left him on the spot to find and kill you and—”

“Let’s find him, okay?” he grabs her hand in his, shoulders his bag on the other side, and drops his half-finished cigarette in the bin before entering the school.

*

_ Charles? _ He tries, creasing his brows as he thinks loudly, in the case Charles is not paying attention—but he soon feels him blooming inside his head.

Erik gets an image of where Charles is—in the library, between the historical and scientific shelves, surrounded by massive books heavier than himself. Hidden in a corner—but they’re going to him, Erik is going to him, and he’ll be fine. He’ll do anything for Charles to be fine.

The door to the library slams to the wall three whole strides before Erik, and the librarian jumps to her feet from the fright, but ready to scold the troublesome students that make so much noise—and she fails, because Erik doesn’t even acknowledge her, Raven on his heels.

He doesn’t really know the place, but he knows he’s going the right direction. The presence in his head is stronger at any step, exhausted but relieved.

“Charles,” he whispers when he turns abruptly at a corner, effectively landing in the alley separating Sciences and History.

Charles is sprawled on the floor, leaning against one of the shelves, looking pale in the white glow coming from the high windows. He opens his eyes, immediately catching Erik’s as he kneels next to him.

“Are you okay?” Raven asks behind him, her voice even huskier than usual, pitching high.

Charles smiles tiredly to her, and then turns to Erik.

“I think I need to eat something,” he says, and when he grabs Erik’s hand, his own is trembling. “Nerves…”

“Come on, then,” Erik wraps Charles’ arm around his shoulders and starts to lift him up, but he stops when Raven goes on Charles’ other side, hands ready but hesitant.

“Can I…?” she asks, looking for Charles’ permission to touch him—for the first time in years, Erik guesses.

He watches them share a glance, both set of blue eyes tearing up—until Charles nods, and clasps his hand in her proffered one. They sigh in unison, and soon Charles is on his feet between them.

*

The next few days pass in a blur of frustration, as Erik has to deal with Raven’s regrets and Charles’ constant failure at reassurance that she  _ couldn’t know _ . She clings to her brother at the same time as she says she doesn’t deserve to, and Charles, even if his shoulders are freed from a massive weight, still can’t function correctly—it’s still so raw between them, and every night, Erik has to put the pieces of Charles’ heart back together as he cries from mingled pain and happiness.

If he’s honest with himself, it strains him even more so, being the witness to Charles getting a part of what he is back. Because he shouldn’t have been teared apart in the first place, shouldn’t have suffered so much.

And Raven, proud, happy Raven he usually shares recesses and lunch with is just the shadow of the girl Erik once knew. She oscillates between dull misery, her eyes red and swollen in the morning, and growing hatred at her own brother, her own father.

Even if she might have suspected something wrong with them before—aside from Kurt’s clear preference for Cain since they were born, his only  _ normal _ child—she’s fallen from so high she barely manages to hold herself together.

She keeps saying how she’ll kill Cain the next time he sets foot in their house whenever Charles is not near them, or how she’s avoiding her father at all costs—not that difficult when she barely saw him before—because she doesn’t know if she can keep her features straight and mouth shut.

It’s with lead circling his head and sorrow weighing his heart down that he steps in the counsellor’s office on Thursday night.

Logan doesn’t even acknowledge him when he enters, busy ruffling through a stack of cardboard folders similar to Erik’s, so he sits on his usual chair and rolls his first cigarette. His numb fingers tear the thin paper in two, and suddenly everything’s too much, the damp cold outside, Logan’s disregard, those fucking cheap cigarettes, and most of all this whole situation he’s been dealing with for so long, since the day he saw Charles’ wounds—since the day they met, truly. His skin feels too tight and like it’s filled with thousands of insects swarming underneath it.

So he gets up and throws his pack on the ground and slams his hands on Logan’s desk. “I really want to hurt someone. So do your fucking  _ job _ you nuthead!”

His voice has raised in between the beginning and the end of his sentence, but he doesn’t care if he has yelled. Logan’s looking at him with a stern expression. The bastard doesn’t even show  _ anything _ —

As the desk starts trembling, he finally opens his damn mouth. “You gonna sit down right the fuck now.” His tone is dry, commanding.

Erik glares at him but finally complies, sitting with his back sagged against the chair.

“Good boy,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice as an insane smile tugs at his lips. Fuck that man knows how to be creepy. “Now, spill.”

And, oddly enough, Erik obeys.

*

“Oh, you’re so cute!” Logan exclaims when he’s done, his shit-eating grin back on his horrible face. “This Charles boy is  _ so _ lucky to have a knight in shining armour, ready to pounce on every guy.”

“Stop making fun of me,” Erik warns, both tired and still nervous.

“Never, you should know that by now.” Logan looks fucking  _ ecstatic _ .

Erik is surprised to see his face transform in the blink of an eye, going back to stern, hard. “Now,” he continues, now totally serious. “You’ve done a good thing by taking him home with you. But you know what happens if you get caught smashing this bastard’s face, and from what you’ve told me, he’s loaded and his lawyer would smash you before you would even be seated at court. You would trample on all my good work, and I won’t let that happen. He needs to file a report.”

Erik starts shaking his head in dismissal. “I don’t think he’ll want that.”

Logan looks at him silently for a handful of seconds before talking once again. “You know what? You bring him in, tomorrow at six. We’ll all have a nice chat.”

Erik ponders the pros and cons thoroughly—would that help Charles? Really, truly help him?

He exchanges a look with Logan and finally nods.

*

“You need to go,” Erik insists, following Charles as he stomps to his room, after dinner.

Charles hasn’t really reacted well to the news Erik brought, as Erik expected—even if he had hoped otherwise. Erik knows it’s because he’s scared of what could yet happen, and he gets that. He’s not going to let any of them approach him ever again, and that’s a certainty. “You can’t just wait to turn eighteen and leave that place without a word. You can’t just run away!”

“I’m not running away, Erik!” Charles turns around abruptly to face him. It’s the first time they raise voices against the other since they got closer, and Erik is unsettled. It doesn’t feel  _ right _ . “Nothing is wrong with wanting to start a new life, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Charles continues, his tone dry.

“Of course not,” it stings, but for the first time in his life, Erik finds he needs to calm the situation. He needs to settle down, to take this slowly. Charles isn’t just another boy. Charles matters to him. He’s important. More important than Erik’s ideas of what he should do. More important than the need to speak his mind bluntly.

He sighs, rubbing at his brow. Goes by his bed and sits on it, back propped against the wall. “Come here?” he asks Charles, raising his hands his way, inviting.

Charles seems to hesitate, but his shoulders give in at the same time as his beautiful proud stance. Erik has felt him gather at the front of his mind, Charles seeing Erik’s desire to sooth the situation. He climbs after him and settles between Erik’s open legs, sitting with his side to Erik’s chest and setting his head under his chin.

Immediately, Erik closes his arms around him and start stroking his arms, his hands, his shoulders, everything he can reach. He tries to convey warmth, calm, to both of them.

“I understand how you feel, even if I can’t really  _ know _ . Believe me. I  _ know _ you want to get out of their claws as soon as possible. But they’ll never let you if they’re free. You need closure, Charles, trust me…”

“I can’t… Can’t face them right now.” Charles murmurs against his skin. He presses his face against Erik’s neck, and as Erik feels moisture welling up there, he tightens his grip around Charles, rocking slowly and awkwardly for a while.

“You don’t need to, you won’t ever need to if you don’t want, I promise. Howlett is a dick but he’s helped me, and he’s willing to help you, too. He just wants to meet you and talk to you about what you can do. Counselling, really. Nothing more unless you want to. And I’ll be there with you. I won’t leave your side.”

When the first tear breaks the barrier of Charles’ eyelashes, Erik closes his eyes and tries to swallow around the lump constricting his throat. “I can’t stop thinking about what they’ve done to you, Charles. It kills me. And when I think about it, I’m afraid your step-brother will continue, if not on you, on anyone else. A weaker student at school. A girlfriend. We can’t let him go unpunished and unafraid. We can’t.”

He bends his neck to kiss the crown of Charles’ head and rub his lips against the soft hair, nuzzling the strands and smelling the shampoo on them.

Charles stays silent, but Erik knows he’s thinking about it. So he waits, concentrates on giving him everything he has to give, everything he can. Holds him until the quiet quivers cease.

Charles rises his hand to dry his cheeks, and when he’s done, Erik captures it in his own to kiss the salty pearls away.

“Okay, I’ll go see him,” Charles’ voice is barely a murmur, but Erik hears him clearly anyway.

“I love you,” he blurts out in turn. And freezes.

He hears Charles’ breathing stutter to a stop at the same time as his own diaphragm contracts hard in surprise.

He doesn’t know where it comes from. He has never—it never occurred to him until now, but it’s true, it’s so true he wants to cry too, to bury himself in Charles’ embrace and cry all the tears he has never shed.

So he curls around the body in his arms and focuses on his breathing for a while, feeling Charles’s fingers coming to comb his hair at last. He doesn’t have time to second-guess his words or to fear Charles doesn’t reciprocate. Because they resonate at the deepest level of his mind, covering his core with a thick blanket of love, when Charles says the words  _ I love you too, Erik _ , warmth and contentment radiating from Charles’ mind, pushing their fear far away for now.

He doesn’t really know how he ends up with Charles’ lips crashed against his, but he responds with everything he has, with every bit of sadness and uneasiness and love all those events make him feel.

They move in synch, Erik letting himself slide against the wall to lie on the bed and Charles coming to cover his body with his own, their lips barely separating in the process. Clothes are slowly discarded, and soon, Charles is riding him gently, hips undulating as they caress each other. His hair pool over Erik’s face, shielding them from the outside as they breathe the same air, exchanging a lazy kiss from time to time but otherwise just gazing at the other, noting the feverish eyes and the increasing heartbeat as they slowly reach their peak.

Together they come, stifling their groans against each other’s lips, hands gripping tightly on shoulders.

After a while, Charles gets off of him to lie down against his flank, and they stay like this, cajoling each other, until they prepare to go to sleep.

*

When she hears Charles is going to see Erik’s probation worker, Raven’s face turns completely ashen before a deep red takes its roots. “I want to come too.”

And whatever, it’ll be Logan’s problem and not his. Charles will need all the help he can muster anyway.

He kind of fears the meeting, afraid that this beast of a human will hurt Charles in any way—his way of talking, the advice he might give, the words he’ll use.  Because he’s seen Logan in action, and a memory of their first meeting comes back at the front of his mind—the way Logan had talked to him would have made anyone but a delinquent uneasy.

But when they reach the crappy old building and turn at the corner before Logan’s office, he’s opening the door, a wide, kind smile on his face. Erik stops dead in his tracks. What’s that expression on Logan’s face? He’s never seen it—for a second, he struggle to find out if it’s someone else entirely who stands in front of them.

“Come on in, guys,” the man says, and it’s Logan’s voice, but his features seems so different when he’s not simply scowling like Erik is used to. He starts walking again, weary, and crosses the threshold first.

The office is still the same, but somehow neater—no clutter on the desk, no cigar nor ashtray visible, even the air seems cleaner. Erik frowns. And Logan  _ winks at him _ —what the fuck.

Logan goes to one of the closets framing the door and gets a foldable chair from it, offering it to Raven with another smile.

“Alright, Chuck,” he says as he rounds his desk to sit on his own chair. “Erik here has given me a briefing of your story. It’s not really my area of expertise, as I often treat with rough boys like him, but I know a lot about legal procedures. I can give you the possibilities, and we could start from here. What do you think?”

“Okay,” Charles nods from his seat between Erik and his sister. He’s wringing his hands on his lap.

“We can talk alone, if you prefer.” Logan warns gently. “If it makes you more comfortable.”

Raven starts to protest but Charles turns to Erik, his eyes wide.

“It’s as you prefer, Charles,” he reassures him, landing his hand on Charles’ before the boy manages to rip a finger, his thumb caressing the warm, smooth skin.

Charles relaxes a notch and turns to the counsellor. “I’d like them to stay with us, if it’s alright.”

“Sure, no problem,” Logan smiles.

He grabs a paper on his right and presents it to Charles.

“Here’s the form you need to fill in order to put a petition to the Family Court. As the persons abusing you are not your parents, I’ll have a summons delivered to your mother, as she is your legal guardian, to your step-father, and your step-brother. They’ll have to go to court to hear the case and present a defence. Meanwhile, you’ll be examined by a certified doctor and you’ll have to go to what we call a fact-finding hearing. This is where you’ll present your medical record and tell your story in front of the Judge and juries. You can even bring witnesses.” He turns his gaze to Erik for an instant before going back to Charles. “And afterwards, it’s the depositional hearing, where the case will be judged. Do you know any attorney?”

“Yes, my father’s.”

“Good. That’s good. We’ll contact them. But first, you have to fill this petition. I can have it run by the Administration for Children's Services by tomorrow morning. I know a few people out there, that’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Charles answers with a small voice.

Erik comes to wrap his arm over Charles’ shoulders, feeling the overwhelming panic threatening to take over in his head. “It’ll be fine. We’ll all be with you. You have enough evidence to make them fall.” He kisses Charles’ temple despite the presence of the two others.

Charles takes a deep breath before grabbing a pen.

“You’re a good lad, Bub. You’ll be better soon, I promise,” Logan adds. After a thought, he continues, “I’d like to personally deliver the summons to your mother and step-father, if you don’t mind. I usually do, when it’s a case for one of my kids. And you’ve been kind of adopted by one.”

Erik looks at Logan, who looks back in turn. He then nods, thanking him silently. No matter how many times the counsellor has made him grit his teeth by being a gigantic pain in the ass, Logan must recognise he’s a strong ally to have. He hasn’t forgotten the help Logan gave him when that bastard Shaw tried to make him fall. He won’t forget this now, either, even if they’ll be done sooner rather than later, his probation coming to its end before the end of the school year.

“Okay,” Charles starts. “I’m done.” He sighs heavily, as if the whole thing has exhausted him. It certainly had.

Logan takes the paper and slides it in a neat cardboard folder, on which he notes Charles’ name with a marker.

“All set. I’ll call you as soon as it’s ready. Until then, you can go home and take care of yourselves. You can do that for me?”

All three of them nod before rising.

Seeing the small, hopeful smile on Charles’ face as they get out in the cold warms Erik up anyway. They’ll get through it, he knows that.

.


	21. Chapter 21

.

Erik is filling the shelves at the store with Charles’ gracious help when Logan calls. The morning is almost over already, so they stop to put the call on speaker as they reach the backroom.

“Alright kids,” Logan’s gravelly voice comes out of the phone in Erik’s hand, “the letter for Cain Marko has been sent. I will personally give the summons to Kurt Marko and Sharon Xavier this afternoon.”

“Do I need to come with you?” Charles asks without looking at Erik. He seems hesitant.

“It’s as you want. But I need to warn you: they usually don’t react well.”

Charles lifts his gaze to look at Erik, considering.  _ Will you come with me? _

_ Always _ , is his immediate response.

“Erik and I will come,” he starts in a more composed voice. “I’ll need more stuff if it’s going to take a while. And some important documents.”

“Sure. I’ll head up there at four. Tell me where to pick you up.”

Erik gives him the shop’s address and after a quick dismissal, they hang up.

As always, Adriel agrees immediately to let them go early—Erik is embarrassed to do that often because he is paid to be there and no one would accept that anywhere else, but his boss is adamant. They’ve managed on their own until Erik came by and it’s not a few hours less some days that’ll change anything, he says. Besides, they’ve got free help too now, with Charles, and if anything too heavy comes by, they’ll wait for his return. Erik stays a bit suspicious until Charles assures him neither Adriel nor Liora have any hard feeling. He wonders if he’ll get used to so much kindness, someday. He still feels like he doesn’t deserve any of this, or that he’ll need to repay it in some way.

“It’s what I think every time we go back to your place, you know.” Charles cuts his thoughts.

Erik looks at him, surprised. “Don’t be silly,” he objects. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s perfectly normal.”

“See? They think the same about you. You do a lot for them every day. So it’s perfectly normal for them to let you go when you need to. They know you’re hardworking and serious and that you’d never shirk away, and they don’t care if you do nine hours instead of ten. You don’t  _ owe _ them anything, because they’re giving it freely to you. But if you want to give something back, you can.”

Erik takes a few moments to mull over that, before looking back at Charles once more. This time, he’s grinning. “Does that mean you want to repay me in any way?” he asks smugly, making his thought of their two bodies clear to Charles.

All he earns back is a surprised laugh and a playful slap on the arm.

Trying to lift the mood is easier, he notes, when he does that for someone he cares deeply for. Making them forget all their problems, just for a little while, instead of keeping them at the forefront of their mind constantly, as he was doing until then.

Circling his arms loosely around Charles, he steals a kiss, hidden between two aisles.

*

Logan picks them up as promised, but later than what he had told them initially. Dressed in a plaid shirt and behind the wheel of a massive truck, cigar hanging low at the corner of his mouth, he looks the embodiment of a Canadian cliché, and Erik can’t stop the disgusted scowl painted on his face when Logan waves them to climb in.

“Come on,” Charles prompts him as he puts his foot on the step and look at him from above—fuck that car is  _ massive _ .

Charles and Logan use the hour of driving to chat amiably. Erik stays out of it, completely out of his depth when it comes to small talk. Even more when it comes to small talk with  _ Logan _ —the guy usually doesn’t give him more than four full sentences per week, let alone  _ cordial _ ones. But Charles’ conscience is petting his mind, taking over the physical contact they can’t have, so he doesn’t feel that much left behind.

But the closer they get to the estate, the antsier Charles gets, distraction forgotten. He’s going to face his step-father again after those blessed two weeks out of that damned house, out of his claws. Erik notices the glances Logan sends through the rear-view mirror, too. He unbuckles and crosses the wide car seat to get closer to Charles, to touch, to reassure him. He cards their fingers together as his other hand comes to comb Charles’ hair delicately. Charles lets out a trembling sigh and smiles at him, thankful, if not strong.

“We’re here, guys,” Logan interrupts them softly. “You ready?”

Even if he directs that question to Charles in particular, Erik nods too.

He opens the massive iron gate with a swift movement of his wrist, and Logan gets the huge wheels on the gravel path that’ll lead them to the front entrance.

It’s kind of weird to follow Charles to the porch and see him push the gigantic oak door—the kind that isn’t used since the 1900s, at least—and not go to the kitchen door as they did the last time. From there, Logan whistle an impressed tone at the double staircase facing them from the other end of the wide lobby. It sure as hell is meant to daunt any visitor into compliance.

“Kurt is in the drawing room,” Charles says. He winces. “He’s with Raven. He thinks she knows something and is pressuring her.”

Logan’s smile turns just a little bit maniacal. “Lead the way, then.”

*

The lumberj—no, counsellor takes the lead when Charles shows the door to the drawing room, and Logan opens it with force, making the inhabitants jump in surprise.

“Who the fuck are you?” a man’s voice roars before Erik can enter the room. When he does, he immediately spots Raven, standing in a corner with an angered expression on her doll face. Just a few strides from her is a man so furious his whole ugly face is red. Kurt Marko, he presumes.

“Oh, this is Logan. I invited him here,” Raven says nonchalantly, her previous scowl schooled to an angelic air. “He has something for you. About Charles.”

Charles takes another step and comes to stand next to Logan, in full view of his stepfather, and Erik does the same, flanking Charles.

“Wh—” Marko starts when he spots his step-son. “Charles? What are you doing here?”

If something is clear in Marko’s tone, it’s that he isn’t the least happy to see him there, not alone.

He’s blanching more and more each second as his eyes leap from Charles to Erik, to Logan. “Did you bring him back here? Did he run away?” Marko asks Logan. Erik observes his reactions, sees him change and hide a calculating glance. “Do you know how  _ worried _ we were, your mother and I, Charles? How could you do that to us?”

Logan clears his throat, getting the attention back to him as Raven joins them slowly, coming to take Charles’ hand. His arms are crossed, and the width of his shoulders and his overall looks make him scary. For the first time, Erik sees him radiating violence. For the first time, he sees a bit of himself in Logan.

“I’m here to talk to you about a case of violence against your step-son,” Logan starts.

“Violence?” Marko fakes surprises so well he should get into Charles’ drama club. “Oh poor boy, what happened to you?” He takes a step closer to them, making Charles flinch at Erik’s side, looks pointedly at Erik. “But Charles, look at who you are hanging out with! How could you stay safe with people like that? Oh thank god your mother isn’t here to see that!”

Erik realises he’s moved when Charles’ hand closes firmly around his wrist, tugging him back—the bastard doesn’t know who Erik is, what he’s capable of—he’s going to show him—

“Oh please, be nice,” Logan snorts. “Erik has made progress.”

Erik turns violently, murderous stare now angled at Logan. The bastard smirks and shows the door behind them with a movement of his head, and soon Charles  _ and _ Raven are hurling him out of the room, where every metal object is now rumbling.

As they pass the threshold, Erik hears Logan continue in a sarcasm only practice can decipher: “Oh, you’re subjected to earthquakes in North Salem?”

“What—What the fuck is that? How do you do it? Is he a freak too? I don’t want him in my house! Get him out!” Marko starts yelling—and truly, Erik doesn’t know  _ how _ he’s not actually reducing this bastard’s face into a pulp right now, because he wants him to bleed so badly his whole skin itches— _ Calm your mind, Erik, please _ , comes Charles’ strained voice in his head. He realises belatedly that he’s made it all about himself, tossing and fighting the grip the siblings have around him. He stops struggling. Turns to Charles. Hugs him. Breathes him in.  _ I’m sorry I’m so sorry _ —

“Oh come now, Marko. Do you want to keep the act up all day, or may I give you the Oscar right away?” Logan is openly mocking, now, and Erik would love to see Marko’s face, if he were able to keep his temper in check upon looking at him.

He hugs Charles tighter, buries his face in his neck. Charles will get his revenge. Logan had warned him—anything going south during the meeting could be a prejudice for Charles’ case. Charles will get it. Later. And he’ll help him. He’ll testify. He can’t screw all of this now.

He straightens up when he hears Logan’s heavy boots on the wooden floor, moving away from the door. “Now, I have this nice letter for you, summoning you to the Family Court. And this one for the lovely mother! Can you show me to her?”

“Sure, you’ll find her passed out in her own vomit somewhere at the end of the corridor!” Kurt spits. “She’s the one who’s never been sober enough to take care of her child, and  _ I’m _ the one accused of negligence? Is it a trick or something?” Kurt if positively  _ fuming _ now.

“Thank you,” Logan says nonchalantly, coming back to the door. He must have given the envelope, then. “By the way, I’ve never mentioned  _ negligence _ , now have I? Have a nice day,  _ sir _ .”

*

They finally head back to Charles’ room as Logan goes to see if Sharon Xavier is in a good enough shape to have a few words. Erik helps him pack a bigger case, with more long-sleeved shirts—even if Charles will never have another mark on him, he still has scars, scars he doesn’t want to show at school—and basically anything he’d need to be more comfortable at Erik’s. He also takes a bunch of folders containing important papers he might need.

After that, they join Raven to her own room, at the opposite side of the manor. She’s packing too, ready to crash at a friend’s for a while. Now that Kurt has been put out in the open, she can’t stay with him, not knowing how he could react.

She’s been relatively silent since their arrival and her jab at Kurt, and she  _ does _ seem a bit… forlorn now that she’s had the time to cool down.

“Stay with us tonight,” Erik asks as they help her finish. “My mother would be glad to meet you.”

Logan’s arrival at their side doesn’t let her think too much about it. “Sure,” she says. “Why not.”

*

Charles sits in the middle on their way back, each hand held by Raven and Erik on either side of him. They exchange a few half-hearted jokes, but really, Erik feels like there’s a kind of lead blanket covering their minds. Eventually, Charles closes his eyes and his head lolls until it rests on Erik’s shoulder. Erik winces, imagining the crick in Charles’ neck when he’ll wake up. He unwinds his scarf, careful not to move his right arm, and slowly tucks the fabric between Charles’ head and himself. The angle of Charles’ neck will be lessened like this. He settles against the window, observing Charles’ loose hand in his. His thumb starts to caress the delicate skin on the side of his lover’s hand.

_ Lover _ .

A smile tugs relentlessly at his lips until he gives up and lets it spread shyly. That’s something he could get used to saying.

*

Edie welcomes the three of them with a big hug each, squeezing a bewildered Raven against her heart, before exclaiming when she sees the bags full of take-out hanging in Erik’s hand.

“To thank you for giving me the roof I needed,” Charles starts as he points at the bag. “I no longer have to hide and I’ll be able to repay you.”

“And also because we come back with another guest without warning you,” Erik adds. “You won’t have to worry about dinner. I know how you get.”

She slaps his arm in retaliation but her smile is fond. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

The kitchen is too cramped to fit them all so they end up eating around the coffee table in the living room, his mother on her chair, Charles and Erik on the couch, and Raven on a pillow on the floor.

Edie asks a ton of questions of Raven, efficiently getting her out of her sour mood, and soon the usual annoying, talking-a-mile-a-minute friend Erik knows is back on tracks, moving her chopsticks wildly in the air.

His mother ends up asking about her mutation, and Raven freezes, glances sideways at Charles who is chewing a mouthful of his noodles. He stops, lifts his gaze when she does, probably feeling her uneasiness. But he swallows and puts his carton on the table, slipping from the couch to get at her level.

“Please, Raven. I’ve missed  _ you _ for so long.” He smiles hopefully, taking her hand in his.

Edie claps her palms encouragingly, making Raven blush. “Alright,” she finally says, before letting go of her blonde persona.

Erik is baffled by her transformation. He had seen her do it once, and only on her hand, so seeing her turning a deep shade of ocean blue, scales turning to reveal her true self, red-haired and yellow-eyed and so  _ beautiful _ .

“You’re gorgeous, Raven,” Charles praises. Erik sees his eyes actually tear up. “God I’ve missed you all those years…”

Raven seems moved by her brother’s words, grabbing his shoulders to squeeze him hard against her. Charles loses his balance but doesn’t make a move to get out of her grip, managing to settle on his knees to hug her back.

Discreetly, Erik’s mother rises from her chair and comes to sit next to him, landing her wrinkled hand on his knee. “You never believe me when I tell you that you’re a good person, Schatz. But look at them. Without you, they wouldn’t be here, together. You made them happy,” she whispers tenderly.

He covers her hand with his. “It’s all thanks to you, mama. You taught me well.”

“There are things no one can teach. I’m proud of you. I know you father is, too.”

He squeezes her hand in answer, not trusting his voice to convey the love he feels, right now.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end has never been so close than now... I'm so glad to have had this journey with you all. You are amazing and I love you. I will miss you dearly. See you next Sunday <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words. This has been the best journey ever, posting this story.
> 
> Your, dear reader, are wonderful. You are the light in my days, and I will never be glad enough of sharing this story with you.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for everyone who took the time to read my story, left kudos, and even more for leaving comments! I cherish them all, from the one-word comment to the so long comment it has to be posted in two parts, from the cries for more and the deep processing of what could happen next, for everything that _you_ left here.
> 
> My heart is crushed to see it end. But the story remains, and I hope you'll enjoy it all the same. For once, I am proud of what I have done, and it's thanks to you all.
> 
> Another big thank you for [Mikanskey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey) for her awesome art throughout the story. Don't forget to check her profile, she's got a lot of fanarts in here!  
> And to [Holdt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt) for the awesome beta.
> 
> One last thing: there's a message for you all at the end of the chapter.
> 
> I love you
> 
> Nalou

.

Time flies by, after that. Charles, whose eighteenth birthday is in a few months, is granted the right to stay at Erik’s until the trial. Erik understands too well it’s not supposed to work like that, Edie’s apartment would never register as a foster home, not with being a single parent of an ex-juvie young adult. He suspects Logan has something to do with all that, but truly, it would have taken weeks to find a new home for Charles, and by the time the trial would happen, he would be an adult.

And he wouldn’t be able to help him as he does now, curled around Charles’ frame as they watch a mindless movie. Erik’s free hand is gently caressing Charles’ flank while the other is tucked beneath his head, noting appreciatively the filling that now takes place between Charles’ ribs. He’s finally put some weight on, helped by dinners at home with Erik and Edie, and lunches not spent hidden in the library but with some food in his plate.

Erik is done with the probation centre, but he still sees Logan from time to time, usually with the Xavier siblings. They seem to have a lot of affection for the guy, and Erik can’t really understand why—he’s still creepy as fuck when he talks. But, he begrudgingly admits, Logan isn’t really the same out of his office. He seems to really  _ care _ about those rich kids who never got caught doing something just a bit wrong. He was there too— earlier, after school, for Charles’ hearing at the Family Court. He had waited with Erik as they both listened to him make a list of the injuries he had suffered since Kurt and Cain Marko entered his life.

Having Logan just beside him, arms crossed and adamantium claws humming to Erik’s sense, wanting to be released, had oddly settled him when he just wanted to rip something to shreds.

Charles had mentioned the screws in his leg, drilled into his bones after a fall down the stairs—pushed by his step-brother, a few years earlier. The way his step-father always used invisible ways to hurt him: fists, mostly, anything that could get Charles back in the tight line he wanted him in. Anything that could rid Kurt of his frustration. Always on his torso, on his legs. Where it would be hidden. How he tried to never make him bleed. How he had failed once and Erik had seen it. How Cain wasn’t so careful. How he got back to school after the winter vacation with a bruise taking half of his face and burnt fingers from when he had tried to save a book Cain had thrown into the fireplace.

Erik had focused on Charles’ watch, warming it in an attempt to comfort him. But after a while, he hadn’t been sure he could maintain his powers over the small object without crumpling it and hurting Charles in the process. He had then melted and reshaped and melted again the few coins he had in his pocket, trying to convey all of his wrath on the repetitive movements.

Charles had been brave, hadn’t blinked when the doctor who examined him came to give his own report—Erik had felt sick.

Charles had expressed the want to stay for the respondent’s reaction to the fact-hearing, even if he wasn’t required to. So obviously, Erik had stayed too. Logan, moving one chair to the side, let him sit between them and clapped his shoulder to show his support. And it had been needed, when at first Kurt had sworn the kid was mentally ill, was prone to lying, to running away. How all those scars were self-inflicted wounds, how he, the stepfather, had had to take care of him when his mother was always indisposed, even when Charles lashed out with his telepathy, trying to hurt him.

The audience had vividly exclaimed until the judge had warned them he would make them leave, and Erik was trembling with rage, gripping both sides of his chair in an attempt not to jump to the centre of the room to slam his fist on Kurt’s face.

Charles had stayed mostly stoic through it, a pained expression on his face the whole time. But he wasn’t hurting, Erik could feel it. It was more like he was pitying his stepfather, engulfed in lies bigger than him.

But when Cain had entered, Erik had seen him flinch, and had turned his head to look at Raven’s brother. Fuck the guy was large. No surprise Charles was hurt so badly with fists to the side of his head. He hadn’t wanted to add anything else to what his father had said, not even presenting a witness, but he has looked at Charles and  _ smiled _ at him. Erik’s nostrils had flared and his blood boiled and it had taken Charles’ hand over his tight fist to just look somewhere else. He had opened his hand and laced their fingers, setting a glare on his face until the end of the hearing.

*

So now, after this exhausting evening, Erik just caresses every part of Charles he can reach, reverent. He drops feather-like kisses on his nape from time to time, enjoys the shivers and goosebumps he creates. Charles sighs, his ribcage expanding against Erik’s own, and sometimes, timid smiles reach his lips and eyes.

_ You’re so beautiful _ , he thinks to Charles as he nuzzles at his hairline, hidden beneath the brown locks.  _ You’re so strong _ , he continues when Charles turns his head slightly.  _ I admire you—you’ve never let your anger take control over you. You’re the strongest person I know. What I thought was cowardice is your greater strength. A strength I lack. _

Charles turns in his arms, now facing him. His blue eyes shine and their beauty make his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He feels so hard he still loses his balance when something like that strikes him. He would never have let anyone get so deep under his skin, before meeting Charles. He wouldn’t have been able to control it, he realises. He hasn’t been able to control anything. Falling so deeply in love for someone he thought he hated with all his being.

Charles unfurls in his head, covers him with a vivid coloured blanket—the grey of Erik’s eyes, the blue of his own, the red and orange and yellow that glow from his warm love, like a sun rising beyond the skyscrapers, the soft green of his happiness, of his newly-found hope.

And even if the hearing has exhausted him, he snuggles closer to Erik, kisses him slowly before nipping playfully at his lips. Charles is half hard against Erik’s thigh from his caresses, but he can feel the sluggishness in the way his hips merely grind against him. Erik settles a hand on Charles’ buttock and pushes lightly, making him turn flat on his back. The grunt that escapes Charles’ lips as Erik leaves them is soon replaced by soft whimpers, when Erik nips at the tender skin just under his ear. Slowly, tenderly, he kisses his way to Charles’ chest, indulging in leaving his own purple marks on Charles’ throat—marks Charles would later admire in the mirror, satisfied.

As he starts going down to Charles’ nipples, licking and playing with them, Charles lets a moan escape his lips before biting them hard.  _ Erik, you don’t have to— _ but Erik wants to. He travels down to his navel, plays with the dark hair climbing down to his groin, and Charles shivers, grips one of Erik’s shoulders. 

_ Can I? _ He asks, always asks. It’s something they’ve never done together, something he himself has never performed, and he wants it to be  _ right _ . Another shudder, followed by a timid 

_ Please, Erik _ , is all he needs to pop Charles’ trousers open. Charles lifts his hips dutifully as Erik brings trousers and boxer down from his waist, and lands back on the bed to lift his legs afterwards.

Charles’ cock now stands fully to attention, rising from dark chocolate hair, but Erik ignores it at first, concentrated on kissing his way back up Charles’ left leg, right hand caressing the other. He settles between them, resuming the kisses on Charles’ lower abdomen. He focuses on his breathing, on Charles’ responses under his hands and lips, and then slowly dives in, comes to rub his lightly stubbled cheek against the length, replacing it quickly by his mouth.

He kisses the head, follows a protruding vein to the root, swipe his tongue back up, trying to remember what he had liked when he had received head, a long time ago—but most of all, he focuses on the sensations he receives in his head from Charles. The sensitivity, the arousal— Charles is already lost in them as he tries to look at Erik and not just close his eyes to enjoy the moment.

Erik raises his gaze to look at him. Takes a moment to breathe, smirking at the sight. Charles looks positively feverish, face red and pupils blown wide, and his tongue swipes over his bitten bottom lip in rapid succession. It comforts Erik in his doing, to see him so wrecked already, so he gets back to work and finally wraps his lips around Charles’ head. He’s uncut, unlike Erik. Erik puts all his attention in sucking and lapping at the slit, his hand wrapping around the shaft to caress it at the same time.

Charles’ intakes of breath are now unsteady, moans making his throat vibrate as they escape his lips—god, he feels Charles’ orgasm build up with him, and he craves for a hand on him too, but he can’t right now, so he relishes in the sensations that aren’t his own. Charles starts to pant his name each time his hand goes up his cock and squeezes lightly. Erik lets Charles’ cock pop out of his mouth and climbs back on the bed, coming to kiss Charles in the filthiest way he knows as his hand keeps stroking him steadily. Charles’ jaw goes slack as he comes, Erik swallowing his moans.

As soon as he releases Charles’ spent cock, he reaches for his track pants, his hand, partially covered in come sneaking under the elastic to grab at his own cock, freeing it partly. With the remnants of Charles’ orgasm in his mind, it only takes a few hard strokes to come too, covering Charles’ belly with his seed.

Charles’ eyes are closing already, utterly spent, so Erik leaves a gentle kiss in the corner of his mouth, to which Charles responds clumsily.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as Erik stands up, tucking himself back correctly before hitting the pause button on the computer and going to the bathroom to fetch a towel.

Charles doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t need to. Erik knows from the warm caress of his mind that he means  _ for everything _ .

Erik cleans their mess with a fond half smile before settling himself back against the wall, tugging Charles’ limp body until it resumes its previous place, back against Erik’s torso.

Charles’ hums of contentment resonate between them until he falls asleep.

*

 The end of the school year gets closer and closer, leaving them all swamped with finals and deep into College applications for Charles. Erik plans to talk about a full employment with the Davids as soon as school is over, and Raven has another year to do before finishing high school. She’s ended up in a foster family because of that, but they seem open about her mutation and nice people in general, and she even mentions a few times how it’s cool to live close to the school, not having to endure an hour-long ride each morning and each evening. She comes to spend a night at Erik’s at least once a week, and they end up playing board games all together, to Edie’s delight.

They haven’t heard about Sharon Xavier, Charles’ mother, since the day Logan gave her her summoning letter. Charles has mentioned her and her addiction to the bottle sometimes, but mostly keeps quiet about it. Erik would not be the one interrogating him, as neither one of the siblings seems to miss her. Anyway, Erik can tell Edie’s over the moon playing surrogate, showering Charles with attention and love. Raven isn’t left on the side— on the contrary, Edie always bugs Erik to buy Raven’s favourite foods at the store when she knows she’ll be coming over, and she always bakes something for them all.

Erik has never been this happy, this light-hearted his entire life. But it can’t last forever, right?

*

Because when Charles finds him at the end of the day, almost leaping in joy and jumping in his arms to tell him he’s been accepted in Stanford to study bioengineering, Erik feels like his whole world is crumbling under him.

Stanford. California. The other side of this god-forsaken fucking country. He hugs Charles back and lifts him in his arms, but finds himself incapable of smiling. Incapable of feeling happy for him.

And Charles must sense it because he moves back and Erik has to let him go and touch the ground once again. Charles looks at him, his hands closed on Erik’s arms.

“What is it?” he asks, uncertainty already creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Stanford?” Erik bites, putting much more venom in it than he had initially intended. Charles flinches. “You’re leaving?”

“That’s one of the best Universities in America, Erik!” he exclaims, but sobers up. “I was hoping you could come with me?”

There’s so much uncertainty in his voice it hurts even more. The pain makes Erik react the way he does best: with anger. “Oh, great, and how am I supposed to do that? I’d have no job, no place to sleep, and I wouldn’t leave my  _ mother _ in here!”

He turns and starts to walk away, but hears Charles on his heels. “Erik, wait, I’m sure we can find a solution together—”

“Do whatever you want, Charles, I’m going to work.” He snaps.

And this time, no one follows him.

*

He fights angry tears all the way to the store, making it there even faster than he usually does.

He pretends not to hear Liora when she greets him and asks where Charles is, surprised not to see him with Erik.

He regrets talking like that to Charles. Of course he regrets. He has lashed out in his pain, made Charles suffer instead of celebrating with him. But how is he supposed to celebrate Charles’ close departure? How is he supposed to be happy for him when Charles wrenches all of his hopes like that?

Of course he should have seen it coming. Charles is one of the best students in the school, if not the best. Of course he would go to a great University. But couldn’t he go to Columbia? Did he have to choose the furthest one? Why not England, while he was at it?

It kills him to see Charles go, but he couldn’t leave his mother behind. Not at her age. Not as she is his only remaining family. She has her work and he has his, here— in New-York.

Charles would leave him and start a new life in California. Forget all about his previous existence here.

Erik crawls in the far corner and crouches against the fire escape. Bends his head between his knees.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

*

It must be only a few minutes since he’s got here, but he’s startled out of his mantra by the shrill ring of the phone in the back office, just a few meters away from him.

Liora stands from behind the cash register and goes to grab the wireless phone, answers as she walks back to her station. Erik stands and tries to occupy his hands and his mind, because he’s done utterly  _ nothing _ since he got here, upset as he was. It would do no good to lose his job now.

“Erik?” he hears Liora exclaim, so he rises his gaze to see what she wants, but she’s not looking at him, the phone still clutched in her hand. “He’s here, yes. No. Yes, I’ll send it to you right away. Of course. Thanks, you too, Edie.”

Erik freezes. His mother had  _ called to check on him _ ? What was he, twelve?

Liora keeps working without lifting her head or acknowledging Erik, and he certainly won’t ask what his mother wanted.

But if his mother is worried, it means Charles has told her about his fit.

It also means Charles is home and—oh fucking god, Charles could have gone anywhere, hurt as he was, and Erik didn’t even bother to check on him, had only dismissed him, rejected him—fuck. He forces himself to breathe once again—he’s home, he’s fine. He’s not wandering the streets, wondering where to crash tonight. He still feels welcome in Erik’s home. God he’s relieved. He would never have thrown him out, even after a fight—he wouldn’t!

Fuck, has he messed up.

*

He takes forever to go back home, walking so slowly even an old man with a cane passes him. He fears what he’ll find. He fears the idea of facing Charles now. He fears the deception in his mother’s eyes.

He barely registers the familiar car parked near the building’s entrance and stays shell-shocked as he opens the door to their apartment.

Because around the coffee table stand not only his mother and Charles, but also Logan and Raven.

Charles lifts his head and gazes at him, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights, but Edie reacts immediately, trotting to him with a wide smile on her face. She grabs his hand and starts pulling him to the living room.

“Erik, have you heard the great news?” she beams as she gives him a glass full of what looks like champagne. “We must celebrate!”

Erik’s heart had already sunk—he now feels like it is being stomped on mercilessly.

“Yeah,” he croaks over the lump in his throat. “Congratulations, Charles.”

He can’t manage to look him in the eyes as he raises his glass, drowning it in one long gulp.

“To me getting rid of you all!” Raven exclaims, making them all laugh.

Erik perks up, frowning, and Charles catches his eyes before he can avert them.

_ You’ve missed several bits of news, Erik _ , he says tentatively.  _ I…  _ he hesitates, takes a deep breath and a swallow of his drink.  _ Logan brought us news from the court. They’ll both go to prison—albeit Cain only for a small amount of time, being minor when most of it happened and all. But he’ll be under control for a long time. I’ve been granted my trust fund early—apparently my mother decided I could have it now instead of when I turned twenty-one. All of my father’s heritage will come to me later, but I have a plump sum already. _

Erik’s jaws feel slack, but Charles apparently isn’t finished.

He puts his glass down and rounds the couch to get close to him. Erik can’t move. Charles takes his glass out of his hand before taking them both in his.  _ Your mother will retire in a month. Her boss signed it this morning. And the Davids have a distant cousin who’s looking for a mechanic in her shop… _

It can’t be.

_ In Stanford, Erik. _

It can’t be true. This isn’t a fucking fairy tale.

Charles’ eyes turn mischievous, grinning wide.

_ Oh no. I can assure you, it’s perfectly real. _

Erik will take the time to process everything later.

For now, he desperately needs to kiss Charles within an inch of his life.

*

Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it’s gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it’s not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.

But Erik Lehnsherr doesn’t give a fuck.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Sunday for a surprise I hope you'll enjoy! But what could it be?


	23. A few years later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Here's the surprise I had for you - an astounding commission I asked from [Varrix](https://varrix.tumblr.com/)!!! [Mikan](https://mikanskey.tumblr.com/) agreed to let Varrix use her design she had made for my fic in order to get our lovely couple a few years later and... There are no other words than _perfection_  
>  Both artists are so talented in very different ways, and I love their art so so much.  
> Please feel free to tell them how awesome they are, cause they deserve it so so much!!!
> 
> And please give yourself a round of applause too, cause you've been the best readers I've ever had.
> 
> I love you all

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Art by the fantastic [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey)!! Go give her some well-deserved love!


End file.
